Wisdom's Gate
by vanillafluffy
Summary: American Gods" Neil Gaiman & "The Ninth Gate". Features among other things: angels, demons, Egyptian gods, talking cats, crop circles and a ghost. COMPLETE!
1. Strangers On a Plane

**Obligatory mumbo-jumbo: **I don't own anything you recognize from the book **El Club Dumas** or the movie,** The Ninth Gate**, nor do I claim any rights to Neil Gaiman's excellant novel, **American Gods**. I seek only to entertain, I don't profit from this in any way. Please don't sue me, it would be an expensive waste of time.

If you just got here, you might want to read my stories, **Ninth Gate: Corso's Choice** first, followed by **Fortune Foretold, **then** Reminiscence** to have a better idea of how Corso survived the end of the movie and what's been going on with him since then. If you're unfamiliar with **American Gods**, I wholeheartedly recommend you read the book for maximum comprehension. It's worth it, honest!

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy it!

vanillafluffy

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Strangers On a Plane**

First class really was the way to go, Shadow decided. Both ends of the airplane went to the same place, true, but there was a helluva lot more leg room up here, and being a big guy, he appreciated those extra few centimeters.

Inches, he corrected himself. You've been over here too long if your head's gone metric.

He didn't quite mean it; the European interlude of the last couple years had been...interesting. Lately, though, something had been nagging at him, until the day before yesterday, when he'd booked a flight back to the U.S.. He couldn't say why he was returning--there was nothing and nobody holding him to America--but the act of making reservations had calmed whatever had been bothering him. Shadow was pretty sure that whatever fate was nudging him would make itself clear sooner or later.

Fortunately, he'd gotten to the airport early--customs had insisted on searching his lone carry-on bag. The bagful of coins he'd collected on his travels was his only souvenier; Customs had clearly been hoping the clump of metal the x-rays had revealed was something more exciting, like a grenade or at least some odd sex toy they could use to play Embarass the American Tourist.

As the other passengers boarded, Shadow amused himself with a couple coins from his hoard, changing a Norwegian ore into a British pound, vanishing the pound and producing the ore.

"Seat four-B, right here, sir," the flight attendant said, and Shadow looked up to see a man being directed to the seat beside him.

The fellow traveller sank into the seat with a wince. Shadow vanished both coins without thinking about it, and settled back into his own seat. This guy looked sick, too sick to want to be distracted by his fidgeting. He was pale and perspiring, although it was a mild spring evening, and there was a drawn look to his face, as though he'd been fighting pain for a long time, and the pain was winning.

People-watching was an old habit with Shadow. He guessed the man sitting beside him was in his fifties, judging by the thick striations of silver at his temples and the lines etched into his face. His navy overcoat was several sizes too large. His expensive suit, too, looked like he'd borrowed it from someone bigger and better filled out.

If he was aware of Shadow's scrutiny, the other man didn't seem to care. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. As Shadow watched, he arched against the backrest, limbs jerking.

No one else nearby seemed aware of the man's distress. Obviously, this gent was in pretty bad shape. He probably shouldn't be traveling in his condition. On the other hand, the fact that he _was _traveling in his condition meant it must be important; maybe it was a vital business meeting, or an experimental treatment, or maybe he was going home to die.

"Hey," said Shadow quietly. "You need anything? Should I call the stew?"

"No, but thank you," his seatmate said, through his teeth.

Throughout the lecture in emergency procedures, Shadow kept one eye on his neighbor. He wasn't going to blow the whistle on him--he respected anybody who could keep going when their body wanted to quit on them--but if anybody else noticed how bad off the guy was, they were likely to pull him off the flight for medical reasons. He found himself hoping the man would get away with it.

The plane was taxiing now, and as the wheels of the aircraft left the runway, the sick man's eyes opened wide. There was an expression of such fear on his face that made Shadow wonder if he'd called it right. The poor bastard might not even survive the flight.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," the man said out loud. He had an American accent, Shadow realized. Going home to die....

"I'm not crazy about flying, myself," Shadow confided, although it didn't bother him, either. One of the cool things about Europe that he'd discovered were the trains, which were more enjoyable than cars or planes. You didn't spend hours in traffic, or get diverted to some other place because of weather; you got on the train and you went where you were going, and along the way, you got to admire the scenery without worrying about getting creamed by some drunk driver.

"It's not the flying that bothers me." He didn't seem to want to enlarge on the comment; Shadow shrugged and pulled his coins out as the man's eyes sagged again.

A couple hours into the flight, the cabin lights were dimmed, and the older man's breathing deepened and grew more regular. He still twitched occasionally, and mumbled to himself.

"Shadow!" the man said loudly, sitting bolt upright, brown eyes blinking.

Here we go again, was Shadow's first thought. Another stranger on a plane who knows my name. Well, you wondered what was calling you back, I guess now you're going to find out.

"You want to talk about it?" Shadow asked, his tone as neutral as he could make it.

"It was just business," the man said, as much to himself as to Shadow. "It wasn't supposed to end up like this."

"This business of yours didn't involve a guy named Wednesday and three glasses of mead, did it?" He became the recipient of an "Are you out of your mind?" look from the older man that reassured him. If things were about to get weird, at least it was going to be a different kind of weird.

How different became clear when the stranger shook his head slowly and said, "No, it involves three books co-written by the devil and a look into the gates of hell."

"Oh." Shadow couldn't think of a more profound response, but he found himself believing the man's explaination. "Sounds intense."

"Are you sure you don't mean, it sounds insane?" the other man challenged him.

"I don't think so." Shadow stressed the pronoun. They eyed each other for a moment. Shadow cocked his head, noticing something for the first time. He touched his own forehead. "You know, you've got a mark--"

The sick man's lips curled in a bitter grimace. "I know."

"What is that?"

"Blood."

"Yours?"

The traveller took a deep breath and released it. "I guess if you can actually see it, you might believe the whole crazy story."

"Hey, we're gonna be here for another four, five hours," Shadow shrugged. "I'll listen."

"What would you say if I told you the devil is a beautiful woman, and I fucked her?"

For Shadow, whose dead wife, Laura, had followed him cross-country for months and who had kept company with gods from several pantheons during much of that time, the question didn't phase him. "Okay." Thinking of how he'd met Laura, he asked, "Blind date gone bad?"

"Business deal gone bad. To begin with, my name is Dean Corso...."

* * *

And away we go. 


	2. The Fat Lady

**Obligatory mumbo-jumbo: **I don't own anything you recognize from the book **El Club Dumas** or the movie,** The Ninth Gate**, nor do I claim any rights to Neil Gaiman's excellant novel, **American Gods**. I seek only to entertain, I don't profit from this in any way. Please don't sue me, it would be an expensive waste of time.

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy it!

vanillafluffy

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**The Fat Lady**

"I don't understand why you're doing this." Corso tossed his cigarette butt to the asphalt as Shadow tucked him into the rented car.

Shadow shrugged. "You need help," he finally replied.

"Just an overgrown boy scout, huh?" said Corso gruffly. The halogen lights in the parking garage at Logan Airport were making him irritable and his limbs quivered spastically; if the sick man was this bad at 4 a.m. EST, Shadow suspected he'd be a basket case after sunrise, if he didn't spontaneously combust first.

"Nah. Just a talent for being in the wrong place at the right time." Shadow had already checked the route to their destination, a small town a couple hours west of Boston. He drove with tire-squealing abandon; the sooner they got there, the better for his passenger. Corso gripped the armrest and said nothing. There was a merciful lack of law enforcement present during their wild drive.

Corso had directions to where they were going; Shadow held the pages in one hand and steered with the other as they shot out of the cloverleaf at their exit. Only another few miles.... The car fishtailed as Shadow stomped on the brakes. He hastily shoved the gearshift into reverse and turned down the driveway beside the mailbox marked "KERRI D. OWEN".

It was 6:30, and the first hints of dawn were streaking the sky. Corso was doubled up with pain, holding his head as low choking groans emerged from his throat. Slamming the car into park, Shadow left the motor running and bolted up to the front door, pounding on it and yelling for help.

The door was opened by a fat, forty-something woman in a fluffy pink bathrobe. She didn't look like she'd just been awakened, but her expression was still less than welcoming. She plucked the pages Shadow was waving from his hand, and glanced at them. Understanding lighted her face. "Jess's friend," she grunted, moving ponderously past Shadow to the car. "Mr. Corso? Dean?"

By the time Shadow had turned off the ignition, she'd opened the passenger side door and was easing Corso from the car. In an impressive show of strength, she carried him toward the house. "Get the door," she barked at Shadow, who hurried to comply.

"Draw the shades," she commanded as soon as they were inside, and he obeyed as she laid Corso on a couch, looking him over swiftly. "Not good," she said quietly as Shadow came to stand beside her.

"What kind of doctor are you?" he asked, seeing nothing suggestive of medical paraphernalia in the room. It looked like a fairly ordinary living room--the most noteworthy feature was a collection of pigs of all sizes and materials. He'd never seen anything quite like it.

"I'm not a physician."

"Great."

"You remind me of someone," she said over her shoulder, striding into an adjoining room. He could see her snatching items from shelves and bins.

Returning with a small black metal bucket, she set the contents alight and began fanning the smoke around Corso, who had a paroxysm of coughing.

"What are you doing to him?" demanded Shadow. Something about the aroma of it made him think of homemade chicken dinners with stuffing, an image out of Norman Rockwell.

Between one breath and the next, Corso stopped gasping for air. His breathing was still labored, but much less so than it had been. "That's better," their hostess crooned, continuing to waft the smoke in Corso's direction. Mere minutes ago, he'd seemed on the verge of total collapse; now he'd relaxed and his breathing was almost normal.

"What is that?" Shadow wanted to know, marveling at the dramatic results.

"Sage. Smudging with sage is a very basic technique, but I've got to warn you, gentlemen--it's a palliative, not a cure."

"Can you?" They were the first words from Corso since they'd left the airport. In the twelve or so hours since they'd met, this was the first time Shadow had seen Corso when he wasn't wracked with pain.

"I still don't have a clear idea of what I'm dealing with," said Kerri Owen. "All I know is what you told me during your rather brief phone call, Mr. Corso, and the e-mail I received from our mutual friend, who only said it frightened her deeply."

"Yeah, I could tell." Dean Corso was silent for a moment, then went on to repeat the events he'd told Shadow about: how the process of trying to authenticate a rare book had taken him to the threshold of Hell.

The Owen woman asked more questions than Shadow had; Corso answered them the same way he recounted the rest of the story, showing little emotion, until he came to the part about the girl smearing her blood on his forehead. "Is that what's causing the migraines and seizures?" he asked, dispair coloring his tone.

She met his gaze levelly. "What do you think?"

Corso sighed. "I didn't figure it out; Jess was the one who said I'd been marked."

"She was right. That's a pretty nasty patch of taint. I'll see what I can do to reduce it. I'm more concerned about your aura. Please, continue with your story, Dean."

He did, concluding with, "The Gate closed, and I got out of there as fast as I could. That's it."

"Yes, that certainly is it," agreed Owen. "Your friend Jess is a very smart lady; she put her finger right on the trouble, although she didn't realize it. She remarked that your aura looks like someone undergoing radiation therapy for cancer."

"No, but I've had four MRI's and more x-rays than I can count."

Kerri Owen shook her head. "No, think of it as something along the lines of spiritual radiation. You stood looking into Hell; think of this as fallout--not from radiation, but from evil. Not only that, but you killed three people. That lowered your resistance further."

"No, the albino, maybe, but Balkan was being burned alive--"

"You fired the shot that killed him, after you stood by and let him kill the Telfer woman. Don't roll your eyes at me! That still counts as blood on your hands."

"Now what?"

"There are several things we can try. Again, this is cleansing, not purifying. Now, if you'll come with me...." The fat woman led the way to a pair of French doors. "Feel free to fix yourself breakfast," she told Shadow. "There's plenty of food in the kitchen. This is going to take a while. You'll want to do this on an empty stomach," she advised Corso. "It won't be pleasant for either of us."

The doors closed behind them.

* * *

Note to my readers: I'm a Florida resident and am preparing to evacuate due to Hurricane Frances. Please keep your fingers crossed for me. I will update again when I'm able. Thanks for your support!


	3. A Friend of a Friend

**Obligatory mumbo-jumbo: **I don't own anything you recognize from the book **El Club Dumas** or the movie,** The Ninth Gate**, nor do I claim any rights to Neil Gaiman's excellent novel, **American Gods**. I seek only to entertain, I don't profit from this in any way. Please don't sue me, it would be an expensive waste of time.

If you just got here, you might want to read my stories, **Ninth Gate: Corso's Choice** first, followed by **Fortune Foretold, **then** Reminiscence** to have a better idea of how Corso survived the end of the movie and what's been going on with him since then. If you're unfamiliar with **American Gods**, I wholeheartedly recommend you read the book for maximum comprehension. It's worth it, honest!

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy it!

vanillafluffy

* * *

**Chapter Three **

**A Friend of a Friend**

Breakfast? That sounded like a really good idea. There was already a pot of coffee perking on the counter. As Shadow moved around the kitchen, he listened for sounds from the other room. At one point, there was a loud crash, like breaking glass, and he tensed, but there was no outcry or further breakage, so he continued buttering his toast, ears still tuned for any hint of what was going on.

After a while, there was another familiar noise; it sounded like a hot tub pump in action. Some kind of ritual bath, he surmised. Shadow cooked bacon and eggs and toast, and ate at a tidy dinette that looked like it had escaped from the fifties. When he sat down with his meal, he was joined by another resident of the house, who leaped gracefully up to sit at the head of the table and mrrrowed at him.

Looking at the blue-eyed Siamese cat who clearly wondered who he was and what he was doing in her kitchen, Shadow thought of something. ("I have eyes wherever my people walk.") He offered a strip of bacon, and was ignored. After some coaxing, the cat deigned to accept a morsel of cheese.

"Hey, Shadow said to her, "I don't know if you can get a massage to Bast--" The Siamese paused in its consumption of the cheese and looked fixedly at him, "--if you can, tell her I'll probably be seeing her soon. Okay?"

The cat began licking her front paws. After doing that, she sat meditatively for a moment, then made another comment to Shadow. (Not speaking Khat, he had no idea what.)

"Thanks," said Shadow, and got a response that certainly sounded like the Khat equivalent of "It was nothing." The feline finished the cheese, and pounced on Shadow's offering of bacon.

The hot tub sounds quit at about the same time Shadow finished rinsing off his plate and pouring himself a second cup of coffee. He returned to the living room and took a seat on the couch, idly toying with several coins. The Siamese came to watch, and in the course of her affectionate squirming, definitely confirmed his assumption of feline femininity. He scratched the tawny fur behind her ears and she rolled around on his lap in ecstasy.

Shadow and the cat both looked up as a series of high-pitched squeals came from beyond the French doors. The cat said something that Shadow thought sounded bawdy. "She's doing an exorcism," he guessed. "Casting devils into swine?" He would've sworn the cat shook her head and laughed at him.

The oinking--it had to be oinking, he couldn't imagine what else that piercing tremolo could be--was the only thing he could hear; there was no conversation, no voices at all. Listening closely, and more than a little tempted to put an ear to the door, Shadow did hear a brief outcry that might have been Corso's baritone; then the squeals died away and all was silent.

When the doors opened, and the fat lady returned with Corso, Shadow saw the other man was walking without assistance and appeared noticeably better. His hair was wet, his damp shirt hanging open, and he carried his suit jacket and coat over one arm.

"I see you've made friends with Jinx," their hostess remarked. The Siamese was lying across his thighs, belly up, her paws wrapped around Shadow's forearm as she sucked at the tip of his thumb.

"She's been keeping me company." Shadow looked over at Corso, who showed no signs of being in pain. "How're you doing?"

Corso actually grinned. "I think I'm stoned on all the pills I've been taking that I didn't need." He moved closer to the couch, and Jinx clawed Shadow's arm hard enough to draw blood, bit his thumb, and fled the scene before her victim could say more than, "Hey!"

"That's probably my fault," said Corso. "I'm still tainted." He looked over at the fat lady, started to say something, didn't. His dark hair was slicked back, and the gray at his temples didn't seem quite so pronounced. Shadow revised his estimate of the guy's age downward by several years. Late forties, early fifties, maybe?

"You'd feel even better with some solid food in you," Kerri Owen said, lumbering toward the kitchen. Her robe was wet, not enough to drip, but soggy enough to clung to the rolls of her obese body and give the illusion that she had several pairs of breasts marching down her abdomen.

"I'm gonna grab a smoke," Corso announced, fishing a packet of cigarettes out of his coat pocket. He opened the front door and cautiously stepped onto the front stoop. The door closed behind him.

Shadow got up from the couch and took his coffee cup into the kitchen. "Thanks for breakfast," he said to the woman. "I hope I didn't leave things in too much of a mess."

"My cat likes you," she said obliquely. "How badly were you scratched?" She caught his forearm, her left hand cradling it, the fingers of her right hand tracing the scratches lightly. "I can take care of that for you."

"I'll live. How's Corso, really?" Shadow had the funny feeling that she wanted to do more than apply iodine and band-aids.

"I've bought him some time, but he needs...let's just say, specialists." She walked over to a telephone hanging on the wall and pulled an address book from the caddy beneath it. She copied something onto a memo pad, tore the sheet off and handed it to Shadow. "These folks can probably give him more help than I can."

With bemusement, Shadow read: "Ibis and Jacquel (Funeral Parlor), Cairo, Mississippi". Better known to the denizens of ancient Egypt as Thoth and Anubis. It really was a small world, but somehow, he didn't think it was that small. If she knew them well enough to refer Corso, then she must have some mojo of her own.

He looked up at Owen; she was flipping over the leaf on the calendar from April to May, and several things clicked, then, in his brain. Kerri D. Owen? Good grief. It dawned on him what all the squealing had been about. May first--Beltane--fertility rituals--whether those goings-on had been part of the treatment, or a form of payment, he didn't know or care. No wonder Jinx had been laughing at him.

"More coffee?" she offered. There was a satisfied smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.

He held out his mug and made an educated guess. "Thank you...Cerridwyn." He'd had a brush with Celtic deities not so long ago, and now that he'd consumed enough caffeine to spark his brain cells, Shadow wondered that he hadn't noticed her name was a no-so-subtle allusion to the Sow Goddess.

Narrow eyes in a broad face studied him. "You're smarter than you look," she said grudgingly. "Not that you don't look good...." The last was delivered under her breath, and Shadow decided to pretend he hadn't caught it.

"I hear that a lot." That could be misinterpreted, he realized. Shadow held up the slip of paper to change the subject. "I worked with these guys for a while. They would've been my next stop."

That earned him an even more intense stare. Cerridwyn was chewing at the inside of her cheek, still gazing at him, then she snapped her fingers. "You! You're Wednesday's kid, the one that cleared up that mess he was trying to stir up in Tennessee a couple years back."

Shadow nodded.

"That guy is such an asshole! Him and his, 'no woman who's had me will ever want another man'--let me tell you something, sonny boy, that is pure ego on his part! If a woman doesn't want another man after him, it's because she's sworn off men completely!"

Shadow raised his hands, placating her. He could believe it. "Hey, if I'd inherited that from him, my wife might still be alive." He was about to give her the details, when Corso walked into the kitchen, smelling of tobacco and wearing a serene expression.

"It's a beautiful day out," he told them, unaware of the atmosphere in the room. "I don't even have much of a headache."

Cerridwyn snorted. "Enjoy it while it lasts. I told you, that's not a permanent fix. And you owe me a new crystal. I've never had a crystal shatter like that before, never." A look passed between them that Shadow managed to ignore. Talk about strange bedfellows! Yeah, this was definitely a whole new kind of weirdness.

* * *

Am still without power after Frances and relying on the kindness (and internet connection) of others. Thanks to everyone who expressed their concern. Now let's hope Ivan leaves us alone! Three hurricanes inside of a month is three too many! 


	4. The Taste of Knowledge

**Obligatory mumbo-jumbo: **I don't own anything you recognize from the book **El Club Dumas** or the movie,** The Ninth Gate**, nor do I claim any rights to Neil Gaiman's excellent novel, **American Gods**. I seek only to entertain, I don't profit from this in any way. Please don't sue me, it would be an expensive waste of time.

If you just got here, you might want to read my stories, **Ninth Gate: Corso's Choice** first, followed by **Fortune Foretold, **then** Reminiscence** to have a better idea of how Corso survived the end of the movie and what's been going on with him since then. If you're unfamiliar with **American Gods**, I wholeheartedly recommend you read the book for maximum comprehension. It's worth it, honest!

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy it!

vanillafluffy

**Chapter Four**

**The Taste of Knowledge**

Corso swore that after the gargantuan breakfast Cerridwyn fed him--and he'd finished every bite--that he'd be waddling for days. She also produced a large stoneware jug stamped "Vermont Maple Syrup". "That's not maple syrup," she informed them. "It's tonic, for him." She pointed at Corso. "Your pupils are still dilated from all the junk in your system. How long have you been on that shit?"

"Months," said Corso, concerned. "What, you think I'm hooked?"

Her snort of laughter wasn't reassuring. "Sure you are. Take a shot of that every time you would've taken a dose of pharmaceuticals. Don't shrug it off and think you don't need anything, and don't keep taking that dope they had you on. You didn't need that crap to begin with, but if you try going cold turkey in your condition...." She shook her head. "Don't try it."

The book dealer looked dismayed, and Shadow cleared his throat. "When you say a shot, you mean how much?" He had an image of Corso chugging the stuff in an attempt to purge his system.

"Here." She went to one of the cupboards and found a small juice glass. "Take this. There ought to be enough in the jug to last you about a week. By then, your system should be getting back to normal from the chemicals. If your headaches get worse and you start seizing again, it's from the Other problem."

Corso uncapped the container and poured a small glass of the stuff. It was pale green and opaque. He sniffed at it, then raised the glass to his lips and drained it with two gulps. "Is it going to do anything?" he asked, then answered his own question, sputtering and shuddering as the aftertaste hit. "God, what is that shit?"

"Tonic," said their hostess firmly. "You don't have to like it."

"How long do you think I have before things start going back to the way they were?" Corso's jaw was set. There was fear in his brown eyes, but he was making a good front of matter-of-factness.

"This isn't an exact science," Cerridwyn told him, not unkindly. "Your initial symptoms came on gradually, didn't they? Pay attention to what your body tells you. Of course, it could be aggrievated if you run into anything nasty. And neither of you boys...." She shook her head. "Oh, you're not too bad," she said grudgingly to Shadow. "You're not completely in the dark. But him--! Jess was right about you, Dean Corso--you're about as Sensitive as an earthworm!"

"Thanks."

"I mean Sensitive to supernatural influences." She turned away from them and went rummaging again. "I hate to do this, I really do, but you're a sitting duck, in your condition." There was a small amber vial in her hand. "Stick out your tongue," she told Corso, and squeezed three drops from a tiny eyedropper onto his tongue.

Corso grimaced at the taste. "Tastes like funky shrimp with strawberries. Still not as bad as that tonic, though." He blinked, then squinted at them. "What the hell--?"

Cerridwyn returned the little bottle to its place. "Auras, Dean. Yes, there really are such things."

"Oh." He looked bemused. "Yours is white with bands of soft green...pink and red, and it's really shiny."

Cerridwyn looked genuinely amused at this information. "And his?"

Corso looked over at Shadow. "Not so shiny. Mostly silver-grey, kind of pewter, streaks of darker green, with little flickers of really dark blue."

"Trustworthy?" she asked him.

"Yes," he answered with certainty. He looked surprised by his own words. "How do I know--?" He stopped and stared at her. His eyebrows went up. "Is this going to be permanent?" There was a sly note in his voice Shadow hadn't heard before.

"Bear in mind, Mr. Corso, that first, you have to live long enough to be able to take advantage of the gift I've given you." The censure in her tone was severe. "Now, for a look at your own aura, go into the bathroom--it's through there, on your right--and look at the wall behind your reflection." He took the hint and left the table quickly.

"She was right, he really is a self-centered bastard," Cerridwyn said to Shadow, shaking her head. "Aura like a goddamn cesspool, even allowing for what's eating him. I'm not sure why I'm trying to help him, to tell you the truth. I'm not sure if he's learned anything from his experience." She snorted. "He's scared, he's miserable, and even knowing what he knows now, I think he'd do it all over again because his ego is bigger than his sense of self-preservation.

"The only good thing I can say about him is, he respects knowledge. Oh, he's quick to use it to his own advantage, but he does respect it. I'm just not sure he understands the difference between experience and knowledge." Shadow said nothing; the goddess was glaring at Corso's chair as if he were still sitting in it. "At least he had enough sense to destroy those engravings, although he'd be a lot better off if he'd just lit a match to them."

"I wish I had," Corso said quietly from the doorway. Shadow wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there. "I think we'd better be hitting the road. I wouldn't want to take up any more of your time, Ms. Owen. You've been very helpful, considering--" His voice died away, and his earlier geniality was gone.

Shadow pushed his chair back from the table. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, ma'am." He picked up the glass and the syrup jug, and they traipsed back through the house, past the pigs, and out into the front yard, where it was, indeed, a beautiful day.

The surprise came when Jinx leaped in through the open car door ahead of Shadow and bounced into the backseat. "Huh," said the sow goddess, regarding her. "It's like that, is it?"

Jinx honed her claws on the velour uphostery. "Meh," she agreed.

"That cat doesn't like me," said Corso, eyeing her. "Besides, she's your cat."

"You don't know much about cats, do you? She's apparently decided she wants to go with you boys." Corso rolled his eyes.

Shadow was inwardly pleased. Bast would be keeping an eye on them. "We'll take good care of her," he promised. He got a kick out of the way the buxom goddess called them 'boys'. Mae West, he thought, without the false eyelashes.

"She can take care of herself. Jinx, I'll miss you. Have a safe trip, gentlemen," Cerridwyn addressed them. "Good luck, Dean. And you--if you see your father, tell the randy old bastard I said leave the ones with freckles alone."


	5. Of Gods and Shadows

**Obligatory mumbo-jumbo: **I don't own anything you recognize from the book **El Club Dumas** or the movie,** The Ninth Gate**, nor do I claim any rights to Neil Gaiman's excellent novel, **American Gods**. Please don't sue me, it would be an expensive waste of time.

If you haven't read the other stuff, you're obviously a masochist who enjoys being confused. Go for it.

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy it!

vanillafluffy

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Of Gods and Shadows**

"What was that about?" Corso asked as they drove away from Cerridwyn's house. "You knew her already?"

"Never met her before today," Shadow said truthfully. "But remember when she said I reminded her of someone?"

"No. When was this?"

"When we got there...you were still pretty out of it at that point.... I thought it was just a come-on or something, but we were talking later while you were out having a smoke and it turns out she knew my father. She thinks he's an asshole." Shadow negotiated the on-ramp to the interstate.

"Maybe you take after your mother," said Corso dryly. "Do you know anything about these people we're going to see? Where the hell is Cairo, Mississippi?"

"Lower corner of the state, at the delta of the Mississippi River. The next town over is called Thebes."

"MapQuest?"

"No, I've been there before. I know these guys. My father got me a job with them a few years ago. They're who I would've suggested going to see next if she hadn't."

Corso pushed his glasses back on his head and scrubbed his face with his hands. "I told you about what happened to me last year," he said after several miles had rolled away beneath their wheels. "I didn't think my life could get any more strange and screwed up. Now I'm really starting to wonder."

Shadow knew the feeling.

"That--that woman--do you know--do you have any idea what she really is?"

"Yes." His passenger made a noise of strangled frustration that earned him a scolding from Jinx. Shadow took pity on him. "I'm not saying I know everything," he said quietly, "but let me fill you in on what I do know." Shadow's explaination about gods and goddesses transplanted to America, a land where gods didn't flourish, lasted for fifty miles, punctuated by Corso's incredulous questions.

"If all these gods exist," he finally asked, "how do you explain what happened to me? I mean, where does Lucifer fit in?"

That seemed fairly obvious to Shadow. "There are people who worship the devil, aren't there?"

Corso shuddered. "That's true."

The rode in silence, broken only by the whoosh of passing cars and trucks. "What's the story on your dad?" The book dealer looked over at Shadow, raising an eyebrow. "He knows her, he knows them...who is he?" There was an underlying suspicion in the man's tone, and Shadow couldn't blame the guy.

"To begin with, I was raised by my mom. He was never my 'dad', I didn't know anything about him, never even saw a picture of him. The first time I ever laid eyes on him, I was thirty-two, and I was hurrying to catch a plane to my wife's funeral. He wound up in the seat next to me, called me by name, and offered me a job."

"With these guys we're going to see?"

"That came a little later."

"And your dad--sorry, your father--your father is--?" prompted Corso.

"When I met him, he was going by the name 'Wednesday'."

"Wednesday?" Corso's forehead furrowed, but Shadow waited. The man was educated; he'd figure it out in a minute. "Wait--Odin? You're telling me your father is the Norse god Odin?"

Shadow sighed. "Basically, yeah."

"You're serious?"

"Is that any stranger than having...breakfast...with Cerridwyn?"

That shut Corso up, at least for a few minutes. "That crazy fortuneteller was right," he said after a while. "I thought she was a scam artist, but damned if she wasn't right about everything."

"Fortuneteller?" Shadow said incredulously. Corso didn't strike him as a New Age, have-your-cards-read-and-your-chakras-rotated kind of guy.

"A couple of months ago, in Paris, I was having a few drinks in a cafe--okay, I was tying one on after having Doctor Number Five--or maybe it was Number Six, tell me that his EEG didn't register a thing when I had a grand mal seizure in his office." Corso sighed. "Now, I don't know if it's because he was an idiot and didn't have it hooked up right, or if it was some Twilight Zone reason."

"The fortuneteller?" By now, Shadow was curious.

"This woman was sitting at one of the back tables. She had a deck of tarot cards, and when I walked past, she said she'd give me a reading if I'd buy her dinner. What the hell, I had enough money, I could've bought her the restaurant. I sat down, and she said I'd be rejected by an old friend--and I was, about a week later. Girl I knew from college, backed away from me like I had cooties--which I guess I do, in a way--but she's the one who gave me _**her** _e-mail."

From his stress on the final pronoun, Shadow figured Corso was refering to Cerridwyn.

"She also said I was going to meet a god, or the son of a god. Then she stopped and said all she saw was shadow. See what I mean when I said my life just keeps getting stranger?"

Shadow exhaled. "Yeah, that's something. Were you dreaming about that on the plane?"

"I don't remember, why?"

"Because all of a sudden you said 'Shadow' and woke up."

Corso looked thoughtful. "And there you were. I told you the whole story and you didn't even blink. I shouldn't trust you, but I do."

"That street runs both ways." Shadow concentrated on the Winnebago he was passing. "I don't know if I trust you, but I think I'm supposed to be helping you. I don't know why; I don't know you from Adam and I don't owe you squat. Any ideas?"

Keying his window down, Corso fired up a cigarette. "No ideas. I'm grateful to have you along, though, because I probably shouldn't be driving, and flying--when I think of how many frequent flyer miles I've racked up without thinking twice, I could laugh. I must've crossed the Atlantic twenty or thirty times, never thought twice about it....yesterday, all I could think of was, if the plane crashes with everyone on board, it's going to be my fault. I'm just asking to get all these people killed along with me." His voice was shaking. When he spoke again, Shadow could hardly hear him over the hum of the engine. "I don't want to die. I don't want to go through those Gates. Ever."

Giving the man false hope would be wrong; Shadow would've liked to tell him that there was at least one other way after death, but there might be--likely were--factors he didn't understand about the whole thing. No, it was better for him to get the answers from Jacquel and Ibis directly. After all, they'd been in the funeral business since 1863...B.C.


	6. The Price of Books in Baltimore

**Obligatory mumbo-jumbo: **I don't own anything you recognize from the book **El Club Dumas** or the movie,** The Ninth Gate**, nor do I claim any rights to Neil Gaiman's excellent novel, **American Gods**. Please don't sue me, it would be an expensive waste of time.

If you haven't read my other stuff, you're obviously a masochist who enjoys being confused. Go for it.

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy it!

vanillafluffy

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**The Price of Books in Baltimore**

After a six-hour drive, they took a room at a Pennsylvania motel for the night, where Shadow dreamed confused images of a beautiful blonde who wanted to take him to Hell with her. Harry Houdini had told him how to escape: all he had to do was turn her into a pig, but first he had to find the blue-eyed cat who'd disappeared into a cloud of smoke, looking for a chicken dinner.

Shadow woke groggy and less than rested. Jinx requested a morning excusion and breakfast, in that order, and he complied. She vanished discretely into the high grass beside the right-of-way, and reappeared as he walked into the small diner attached to the motel. "No dogs allowed, except service animals," the counterman said as Shadow took a stool, Jinx jumping up onto the one beside him. It swiveled, and she dug her claws into the vinyl.

"That's not a dog."

"Ah, what the hell, those lazy fucks at Code Enforcement are never out this early anyway. What can I getcha?"

"I'll have the number five and black coffee. Make hers tuna."

Jinx gave a short, smug, "Rah." Apparently, that met with her approval.

Corso hadn't been up long when they got back to the room. He was standing in front of the sink, holding Cerridwyn's juice glass, wearing the disgusted expression brought on by a dose of tonic. "Vile," he muttered. "Absolutely vile."

When they finally got on the road, Corso wanted to swing by to visit with a book dealer he knew in Baltimore. Since it was his nickel, they detoured to Baltimore. The bookstore itself was in a tidy storefront in a historic district, and Corso seemed genuinely pleased at the prospect of seeing his colleague.

"I'm looking for Dave Porter," he told the woman behind the counter.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Porter has retired. I'm Jennifer DeMagestris, the new owner." She held out her hand.

"Retired?" Corso shook her hand mechanically, looking stunned. "When was this?"

"He had a heart attack about eight months ago, and had to have a bypass done. They told him he needed to take things easier, so he sold the store to me."

"And how's business?"

"A little slow," she admitted, her smile uneasy, "but I'm sure it'll pick up."

"I'll just browse a little," Corso told her as Shadow wandered over toward a section posted 'Hobbies'.

Shadow found a couple books of illusions and coin tricks that looked intriguing. One of them was "Houdini On Magic". Remembering his dream, Shadow added the volume to his pickings. He was bemused as Corso piled several stacks of books onto the counter. The proprietor was trying unsuccessfully to conceal a look of joy at the size of the sale. The total was well over $300, which Corso pulled out of his satchel, crisp fifties in a well-handled envelope.

"I'm traveling at the moment," he said smoothly. "If I were to give you, say, an additional fifty dollars, could I persuade you to ship them to me when I settle down?"

"Of course!" She and Corso beamed at each other.

"I'll need a detailed reciept," he added. "Title, author, publication date and price, details of shipping arrangements...."

Her smile dimmed slightly at the paperwork involved on thirty or more books. "It'll take me a little while to type it all up."

"Make carbons," Corso advised. "We'll just run next door for lunch."

There was a pub next door, and Corso led Shadow there in surprisingly good spirits. Maybe this was his last chance to engage in his business, Shadow thought. There was no guarantee Jacquel and Ibis could help him. If his condition worsened again, he might not have another opportunity to wander through a friendly bookstore and browse.

They timed lunch well. Jennifer DeMagestris was just pulling the last sheets from a venerable IBM Selectric when they reentered the shop. Corso scanned his copy and nodded, satisfied. Jennifer's face when the cash changed hands was all smiles. Eight new fifty dollar bills went into the cash register, and less than $20 came back out in change.

Shadow's purchases were more modest, but the woman was just as happy to make the sale. "You get the feeling we just paid her rent for the month?" he asked as they returned to the car. The windows were down for Jinx's comfort. She was napping on the back seat, looking bonelessly comfortable.

It wasn't until they were back on the highway that Corso started to laugh. He was looking inside the cover of one of Shadow's books.

"You got a signed first edition of 'Houdini on Magic' for five dollars?" the book dealer chortled. "Good work! If that's an authentic signature, I'll give you fifty for it."

"If you'd give me that much, it's probably worth three times that, at least."

"You're learning." Corso was smiling like a well-fed shark.

"And those books she's holding for you--how much are they really worth?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," smirked Corso.

Shadow was silent for a moment. Corso's glee made him a little sick. That poor woman was obviously struggling to keep her dream afloat, and here was Corso preying on her. Why? He didn't need the money OR the books. What the hell, what was the worst thing that could happen if Shadow spoke his mind? He and Jinx would end up hitching a ride to the nearest town and Corso would have to drive himself to Mississippi.

"That stinks," he said bluntly. "Why'd you do something like that? That woman's hurting for money."

"Shadow, I heard what _she _was saying to you yesterday. She was right about one thing: I DO respect knowledge. And I don't have a lot of respect for someone who doesn't know enough to value what they've got."

"Like health? Like having a life?" Shadow shot back. "Tell me something--what made you get up one day and decide to fuck over everything in your path?"

"I don't--" Corso stopped. "Okay, maybe I do," he conceded. "Sometimes. That doesn't make me a bad person."

"Oh, no," Sarcasm laced Shadow's words. "You tracked the devil to his doorstep and gave him the finger--or you literally fucked her, if I believe your version of it--but that doesn't mean you aren't a nice guy."

Corso was silent for a long time. If he'd made a snide comeback or snapped at him, Shadow thought he might just pull the car over then and there and say fuck you very much, but Corso had no answer.


	7. Coin Tricks and Cigarettes

**Obligatory mumbo-jumbo: **Same disclaimer, different chapter. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy it!

vanillafluffy

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**Coin Tricks and Cigarettes**

Jinx making her needs known prompted Shadow to find a rest area. The cat disappeared into some nearby woods. She hadn't returned when Shadow got through using the facilities. Corso, after a dose of tonic, was sitting at a picnic table and staring into space, clearly in no hurry to resume their journey.

Looking at the solitary figure, Shadow asked himself again why he was helping the guy, who, more and more, was showing himself as a world-class asshole. Because it was the right thing to do? He didn't buy that, either. After a while, he strolled over and sat down across from Corso.

"I don't know," the other man said, as if answering a question he'd just been asked. "I've never thought of it as fucking people over--but if they're too stupid to appreciate something good, they don't deserve to have it."

"You're not from money, are you?" In Shadow's experience, old money usually took everything for granted. They figured they were rich because they deserved to be rich. He pulled the change from his pocket, selecting coins to manipulate.

"Hell, no! My dad worked in a factory and my mother cleaned houses. I had two brothers--they were two years apart, and I was the youngest by eight years--they hated me. I was unplanned, you can probably figure that out from the numbers, and there were a lot of medical bills involved. Money was always tight, and they said everything would be okay if it wasn't for Dean."

"Your parents said that?" Vanish a quarter.

"My brothers." Corso stared at the treeline. "They couldn't stand me, and believe me, the feeling was mutual. They didn't have as much after I came along, but I made out pretty good." He rummaged in his coat pocket for his cigarettes. It was a balmy May afternoon, but he was still huddled inside the too-big coat like it was his security blanket or something.

"These people my mom worked for had a son around my age. They'd give her clothes and stuff he couldn't use any more, good clothes. It was crazy--there'd be one button missing, or a little ink spot or something, and they'd just toss it. My folks and my brothers wore cheap clothes til it was in rags, but I was dressed like a preppie--except when they'd get pissed at me for something and steal my stuff or tear it up."

"Or beat up on you?" guessed Shadow, turning the Mississippi magnolia into a stand of Vermont maples.

"All the damn time," Corso said bitterly.

Shadow had been a shrimp of a kid, but he'd outgrown it. Corso hadn't. Granted, some of his thinness was due to his illness, but even allowing for that, he had a slender, wiry physique. It wasn't hard to picture him as a runty kid trying to fend off bullies.

"But you were a bookworm?" Maple trees were transformed into an old-fashioned eagle.

"I suppose. My mom left me with a neighbor while she worked, and the lady was a retired teacher. I could read before I started school. She encouraged me more than my family ever did."

Corso sparked a cigarette. "When I got older, I started spending all my spare time at the library. I wasn't a genius--I had to work like hell in school--but I earned myself a scholarship to a college with a good library science program."

He sighed, exhaling a column of smoke. "I left home and never looked back. I worked two and three jobs at a time to make ends meet, but I was going to make a decent life for myself. Then, at the beginning of my second year, I met a girl."

Shadow waited as Corso puffed. "Her name was Jess, and she was an English major. She wanted to be a writer. Bright girl. Middle class--not rich, but no idea what poor was, either. I'd never had a girlfriend before. We followed each other around for a couple years, and then--"

Corso stopped. Shadow braced himself. He could easily imagine Corso deserting a pregnant girlfriend, or something equally tawdry. Marrying for money, maybe, then screwing her over in a divorce settlement.

"We went to a yard sale, and Jess wanted to buy an old trunk she found. The seller wanted fifty bucks, dropped it to forty, and Jess still didn't have enough. Well, I was crazy about her, or maybe just crazy; I gave her my last $20--and I mean, that was my food money for a week. She never understood something like that; with her, if you ran out of money, you just phoned home for more."

He lit another cigarette from the stub of the first. "We made a deal. She'd keep the trunk, and I'd get whatever was inside."

"You didn't know what it was?" All three quarters lay in his open palm, which he slowly closed.

"I would've been happy with anything I could've hocked for my twenty bucks. The lock was so rusted, I had to chisel it off. We were joking about a trunk full of money, or the czar's crown jewels, and then when we got it open, Jess shrugged like it was no big deal and said, too bad, Dean, it's just some junky old books."

"And they weren't?" Three quarters were replaced by two shiny pennies.

"Most of them were, but there were a couple that more than made up for it. I cleared out the trunk and carried those two grocery bags back to my room sweating bullets the whole way. I was afraid the bags would rip, and they'd fall out and get damaged, or it would start raining and they'd be ruined. I knew they weren't junk--they were my ticket out."

A haze of smoke surrounded him. "I sold those books for enough money to finish my degree without waiting tables, and used what was left to get my own business off the ground. And eighteen years later, here I am: I'll be forty-one this year, I have a bank account in the high six-figure range, I've traveled all over the world...and none of that matters because I'm doomed. I won't say I'm not an asshole, Shadow, but I've busted my ass for what I have, and I don't think I deserve this shit."

Shadow finally understood a saying he'd heard somewhere: "No man is a villain in his own mind." He slid the coins back into his pocket without flourishes. "Let's go. This isn't getting us to Mississippi."


	8. Angels in America

**This chapter is dedicated, with thanks, to Mojave Dragonfly.**

**Obligatory mumbo-jumbo: **I don't own anything you recognize from the book **El Club Dumas** or the movie,** The Ninth Gate**, nor do I claim any rights to Neil Gaiman's excellent novel, **American Gods**. Please don't sue me, it would be an expensive waste of time.

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing, hope you enjoy it!

vanillafluffy

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**Angels In America**

It was the afternoon of the fourth day and they were lunching in a restaurant in Louisville, Kentucky. Corso hadn't been too much of a dick since Baltimore, but Shadow was still uneasy around him. As charming as Corso was when he wanted to be, Shadow knew that underneath the smooth façade, the guy was a bad apple.

They were comparing notes on Germany and discussing the merits of the autobahn versus public transportation. Corso had been pleased to find Shadow was so well-traveled; it gave them safe topics of conversation that didn't have anything to do with gods, devils or the price of books in Baltimore. Hearing Corso commenting on people's auras was also starting to get a little freaky.

Corso winced and rubbed his forehead.

"Headache?" Shadow asked, concerned.

"No more than usual...just a twinge." He looked suddenly tense, though, and Shadow didn't think that was a good sign. "It's probably nothing."

Probably nothing usually meant something somebody didn't want to talk about; okay, he'd go along with that if Corso wanted to be a stubborn putz. A blonde a few tables back had been looking in his direction. Shadow caught her eye and smiled. He could've been agreeing with Corso's observations about Porsches and what he thought of Stuttgart...blondes weren't usually his type; he hadn't inherited that from his old man, but she was attractive in a long-stemmed way and hell, a guy could still look, couldn't he?

"Back in a minute," Corso muttered, and left the table in the direction of the restrooms. The blonde got up and strolled toward him, backpack over her shoulder and a pamphlet in her hand. For a second, Shadow enjoyed a daydream that she was walking over to their table to ask him to leave with her. They'd have wild animal sex for a few hours, and Corso could screw himself. No such luck, she continued on to the cash register.

Their check was face-down on the table. Shadow figured he might as well pay it while waiting for Corso. To his disappointment, the blonde walked out as he was crossing the room, but when Shadow got to the counter, her brochure was resting there. "Angels In America" read the gracefully scripted font on the cover. He glanced through it while the hostess rang up their bill. The Louisville Museum of the Arts was sponsoring an exhibition of angels as depicted by American artists, through June 30th, after which time the exhibition would be traveling the country. There was a quote from the woman who'd organized the thing; she'd gotten the idea from a similar show in Britain several years ago...absorbed in the contents, he started when Corso tapped him on the shoulder.

"What've you got there?"

"Something from a museum, it looks interesting."

Corso riffled through the pages. "We could take a look. It's not like we're pressed for time."

"You up to it?"

"Yes, Mother," said Corso dryly. "Who knows, it might even do me some good."

When they got back to the car, it was with a newly acquired street map of Louisville and the address of the museum. Shadow fed Jinx---he'd ordered a broiled chicken breast to go for her---while Corso went through the tonic ritual. "I keep thinking it's going to get less disgusting, or I'll get used to the taste, but it hasn't happened yet."

Jinx's tail lashed. "Hrrrh!" If that wasn't "tough shit" in Khat, then Shadow didn't have a clue. The Siamese had ceased overt hostilities--she no longer arched and spat at Corso, but her verbal sniping was distinctly that.

The angel exhibition was more extensive than either of them had expected; apparently whoever rounded up the artwork had been flexible about what constituted art. There were paintings--everything from paint-by-number to Grandma Moses--sculpture (one of which was welded together from bicycle parts with chain-driven wings that rattled as they flapped)--and pop culture offerings like syrupy Victorian lithographs of children doing dangerous things while a nearby celestial being smiled benevolently.

"Wow," said Corso, taking it in. "It's certainly a change from the Louvre." Shadow grinned. The guy did have something like a sense of humor. His comment summed up the whole thing perfectly.

They wandered through the galleries amiably. It was pretty incredible, Shadow had to admit. Who knew that there were that many American artists out there creating angels? Some of it was old and probably valuable; some of it Shadow judged a waste of paint. In the background, the mechanical angel clattered its gears repetitively.

He paused before one canvas, titled "Adoration". At first, it looked like a standard Nativity scene...then he realized that the glowing figure kneeling in front of the Holy Family was holding a paintbrush. The "angel" was retouching paint on a statue of the Virgin Mary. Joseph's colors were faded and the paint flaking off. Only the infant Savior was in pristine condition, as if He had been repainted first. How did they get the glow that softly washed the painter? Shadow looked closer. Shiny, pearlized paint...Laura used to have some nail polish like that....

As Shadow walked into the corridor labeled "Fallen Angels", the first thing he saw was the blonde from the restaurant. She wasn't looking in his direction; she was standing just behind Corso, who was absorbed by something on the wall. Shadow was moving in their direction as she reached out and covered Corso's eyes with her hands and said something in his ear. The other man shuddered with pain, and it clicked then, who she was; Shadow bounded the last few yards and yanked her away from Corso by the straps on her backpack. "Leave him alone."

"So, you've found yourself a protector," she said to Corso, sounding amused, but her green-eyed gaze never left Shadow's. Up close, she had bone structure worthy of a supermodel, but her eyes glinted with an inner light that disturbed him. "How fascinating."

"I mean it," he growled, and took a step closer to her. His action had thrown her back a few steps, but she was still standing. The blonde stared back at Shadow, not smiling now. Sizing him up. Three years of prison and three years more of weird shit in strange corners of the world gave him ample confidence when it came to sheer intimidation. She was regarding him uneasily.

(I don't care where you come from, lady. I'll match my old man against yours any day of the week. Especially Wednesday.) He thought it at her as hard as he could. It was a grim joke, and the resultant grin on his face was ugly enough to daunt her.

"Don't worry, Dean" she said, a mocking tone to her voice. "We'll _always _be able to find you." She touched her forehead suggestively. With that, she took several steps back--without ever turning her back on Shadow, then swiftly left the room.

Shadow took a half-step in pursuit, but his companion groaned. "No, don't...let her go...." Corso was leaning against an unoccupied stretch of wall, the palm of his hand pressed to his forehead. He was perspiring, and his breathing was labored.

"Let's get out of here," said Shadow. The book dealer waved away Shadow's arm. He walked unsteadily, but was determined to make it to the car on his own. They made their way past the clockwork angel, through the galleries and out of the museum. Corso sank into the passenger seat and Jinx gave a cry of alarm, leaping onto the seat back.

"Don't you start," the man groaned. The cat continued her worried interrogation, sniffing at him. Shadow climbed into the driver's seat to find Jinx butting her head against Corso's face, mrrowing anxiously. He wasn't objecting, which was a sign of how out of it he was.

"Let's get the hell out of Dodge," Shadow said grimly, turning the key in the ignition and maneuvering them out of the parking lot. "That was her, huh?"

"That was her."

"What was she saying to you before I got there?"

"She said, 'Hello, Dean, did you miss me?' " Corso was shaking. "As soon as she touched me, I thought my head was going to explode."

"This is my fault," Shadow was disgusted with himself. "I saw her in the restaurant while we were having lunch. She left that program for the exhibit by the cash register. I led you right to her."

Corso shook his head. "It's not your fault. You heard her. She can always find me."


	9. WellRead

--Insert obligatory mumbo-jumbo here--

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

**Well-Read**

For an hour after leaving Louisville, Corso was a still figure in the passenger seat, as if by not moving he might lessen the pain. The only motion came from his Adam's apple, which bobbed at intervals as if he was trying to keep something down.

Shadow's fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he reviewed the museum encounter. Even though he'd heard Corso's story several times now, this was the first time he'd really believed it. Oh, the part with the book, sure, but the business with the beautiful girl following him around had sounded like Corso's ego padding the tale. There _was _a girl, and some instinct warned Shadow that she was indeed supernatural. He wasn't sure if she'd picked up the thought he'd tried to project--he'd only tried that particular stunt once before, and that was with an ordinary human being.

Was she really The Devil? And if she was, did that automatically made her invulnerable? No, he decided. Corso had accidently given her a nosebleed in Paris--according to him, that was when she'd marked him with her blood--so she could be hurt. It seemed logical to suppose that the same rules applied for her kind as they did for gods--and he'd seen a few of them die. Whether or not he was capable of killing her was another question entirely.

They were traveling southwest toward Mississippi on a toll road. As Shadow paused to pay, he multiplied the quarters from two to four for the surprised toll collector--he hadn't planned the trick ahead of time; his practiced hands did it of their own accord. The woman was smiling as they drove away; she hadn't been, to begin with.

"Where did you learn all that, anyway?" Corso asked listlessly. "You're always fidgeting with money. You were doing it on the plane, I remember."

"Self-taught, from a book. I had a lot of time on my hands."

"Out of work?" His tone sounded like he was forcing himself to make conversation.

"Three years in prison."

Corso's head turned. That got his attention, thought Shadow.

"You were? And I thought you were a Boy Scout."

"I beat the snot out of a couple of monkeys who tried to rip me off."

"Huh." His companion inspected him with new-found curiosity. Then he seemed to realize that he might be behaving gauchely. "I'm sorry. You seem so...you don't seem like the type. Your aura--"

"What can I say? I was younger, then."

Shadow didn't feel like going into all the sorry details. Laura had been the brains behind the robbery; Shadow, the driver. The heist should've netted them enough money for a house of their own, credit be damned. When their accomplices scooped the pile for themselves, Shadow had thrown them a beating. He'd served time for aggravated assault and battery. Forty-eight hours before his release from prison, a car wreck had taken his wife from the land of the living. After that, nothing had been the same.

He threw the conversation back to Corso. "What is it with this aura business? It's getting a little creepy."

"Auras? They're amazing. It's kind of like a colored halo, and the colors and shades mean different things."

"What did hers look like? The Blonde?"

Corso's lips trembled faintly. "Seductive," he finally admitted. "Dark, like burgundy wine or drying blood, but beautiful. Enticing...." There was a note of longing in his voice.

"Stop it. It's bad enough you're marked by her, you don't have to think her to you." He couldn't entirely blame Corso though. Hadn't his own first reaction to her been attraction? "I shouldn't've asked."

"Thank you," the other man said a moment later. "For stopping her. I should've said it before this. You took a big chance."

"Maybe. I wasn't thinking about that."

"You really are a Boy Scout," said Corso, but he grinned as he said it, a wince of humor on his pain-wracked face. "True blue, and it's not just the color of your aura."

Shadow felt a surge of emotion he couldn't put a name to. As much as the cynical dealer annoyed him, their were moments when he almost liked the guy. Like now; you could see that he was hurting, but he wasn't whining about it. Probably had the whining beat out of him when he was a kid, Shadow thought, remembering their talk at the rest stop.

"Can I ask you something else?" Corso asked hesitantly. "Being the son of a god--is it good for anything? I mean, can you--I don't know, do anything special?"

"This is your day for questions, huh? Look, I'm not Superman. I got sheer size from my old man, but I don't have x-ray vision and I can't bend steel in my bare hands."

"That's not what I asked."

"Corso, you are one persistant bastard when you get going, you know that?" Corso just looked at him. "Look, I conjured up a blizzard once. And I talked a guy out of killing himself. Those are the only so-called special things I've ever done." Corso's eyebrows raised slightly. "The blizzard was easy. The other, I'm not sure how I did it, but I tried something like it on your friend at the museum. I don't know if it worked or not."

"You what?!"

Shadow sighed. "A couple years ago, some bad shit went down, and a guy I knew was going to commit suicide because of it. It was like a cloud around him. I pushed the cloud away, got him to forget the bad stuff and concentrate on what was important."

"And you did _what _at the museum?" the other man's voice went up a notch.

"Tried to send _her_ a message: don't fuck with me. Like I said, I'm not sure if it worked, but she didn't exactly stick around." Corso was staring at him open-mouthed, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. "Okay?" Shadow put as much finality as he could into his tone.

"Tell me about these people we're going to see," the bookseller asked, making an effort to change the subject. "I mean, a funeral parlor? Is that a front for something?" He fished a pack of Luckies and Cerridwyn's note from his coat pocket. "Ibis and Jacquel?" He pronounced the second name "Zh-ah-KELL", as if it was French, and Shadow shook his head.

"No, it's like the animal, jackal, and the town is Kay-ro, not Cairo like in Egypt."

"Jackal god, jackal god," Corso murmured. "Egyptian...Anubis?"

"You got it."

"What can I say? Well-read, well-traveled...." Jinx protested as he lit up the cigarette. "...and I like the History Channel. Anubis was the god of the underworld, if I remember correctly."

"Is. He _is _the god of the underworld. And Ibis--Thoth--he's a guide for the dead. They work together," Shadow explained, "and it really is a funeral home. It's not very upscale, because it's not part of the big network of funeral homes, but they're scraping by."

"Egyptian gods, here? In America?" He took a drag on the Lucky.

"For thousands of years. Ancient Egyptians came here to trade, and brought their gods--not just those two. The traders died out. Jacquel and Ibis are old men now, because they aren't worshipped any more. They're not invulnerable." That had memories too, worse ones, and Shadow's throat tightened. "They run a funeral parlor because, well, it's what they do. Jacquel works as coroner on the side. Ibis writes. And Bast...cat goddess. She's a cat."

Corso didn't need to know everything, Shadow decided, feeling better. Odds were, Corso would only meet her in her feline form. Thinking of the tawny woman who'd rocked his world brought a smile to his face. She'd stayed youthful while her compatriots had aged...humanity might be neglecting her, but apparently, cats still knew and loved her.

"You're smiling," Corso observed. "That makes me nervous. You don't smile a lot, Shadow."

"They're good people. I'm looking forward to seeing them again." It struck him that that was probably the closest thing he had to a place to call home. Nowhere else qualified; none of the other places he'd lived, with his mother or his wife. What was the old saying? Home is where, when you go there, they have to take you in...? He repeated that aloud.

"Robert Frost," was the prompt response. "I had a gorgeous first edition once..." Corso's voice trailed off. "I had so many things I didn't to be bought and sold. Just books, old books...and my life. And my soul...." He was silent for a long moment, the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers.

Shadow glanced over at his passenger. "_Did _you actually sell your soul? You never mentioned that part."

When Corso finally spoke, it was without the air of urbane sophistication he'd always affected. "Balkan bought my services, but believe me, my soul wasn't part of the deal. That was the only deal I made, Shadow. I never promised_ her _anything, never _asked _her for anything."

"You said you slept with her."

"Once. It just happened, I wasn't in love with her, it was just--nookie!" He made an impatient gesture, and the inch-long ash spilled down onto his coat.

"And after that, you went and got that other page from the book and chucked it all into the fiery furnace?" Shadow groaned. Corso hadn't figured it out? For a smart guy, he sure could be dumb.

"That's right."

"You're well-read," Shadow reminded him. "Haven't you ever heard the expression, 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'?"

* * *

To forestall all you flaming English majors out there, yes, the correct quote is, "Home is where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." Shadow **ain't** an English major and he's paraphrasing. One of my well-read betas has already called me on it. Thank you! 


	10. Welcome to Cairo

**Chapter 10**

**Welcome to Cairo**

Cairo was much as Shadow remembered it, perhaps a little shabbier without the concealing cloak of snowfall. After driving straight through from Louisville, he'd been concerned that he might be too tired to remember the correct route, would miss a vital turn and wind up somewhere bad, but little had changed in the intervening three years. Shadow piloted the sedan down the midnight avenues, Corso nodding off in the seat beside him. There were gaps of darkness where the streetlight bulbs had burned out or been broken, and not yet been replaced.

Several of the Victorian houses around the funeral parlor had been torn down. Others showed signs of recent renovation. For two heart-stopping blocks, he wondered if the old men would still be there, or if they had given in to progress and gone on to...something else. It was a thought too dire to contemplate; what would he and Corso do if they were gone?

The familiar sign was still there, and if Shadow wasn't mistaken, it had been repainted recently. Certainly within the last three years. The tidy black lettering read, " IBIS AND JACQUEL. A FAMILY FIRM. FUNERAL PARLOR. SINCE 1863." It wouldn't say "A family firm" if they'd been bought out, would it? he wondered, remembering Mr. Ibis's dissertation on the funeral industry.

No lights burned inside, but a few weak exterior lights--too dull to be called floodlights--marked the doors. Shadow pulled into the driveway near the side door and shook his passenger. "We're here." Corso yawned and rubbed his eyes. Jinx stirred in the back seat and crawled onto the rear window ledge. Both men were startled as she emitted a shrill series of cries.

"What's the matter with her?" Corso asked incredulously as Shadow opened his door. Something small and brown leaped in through the door and pounced on Shadow, purring. "That's all we need, a cat fight!"

Jinx showed no sign of wanting to attack the other cat; she was crouching on the floorboards behind Corso, making anxious noises. Shadow cuddled Bast, relieved. If she was here, Ibis and Jacquel would be here. They hadn't made the long trip in vain. He exited the car, Bast snugly against his chest. She was rubbing her face against his neck and purring with contentment.

As Corso unlatched his door, Jinx flew from the floorboard to the backseat and launched herself at Corso, sinking her claws into cling to him. It was a little like watching a cartoon cat; at any moment, she was going to start sliding downward, leaving rows of parallel slashes running the length of Corso's old coat. He caught her, and stared as Jinx started talking to him in earnest Khat. "Has she gone out of her mind, or what?"

Bast said something brief, and Jinx shut up. "She's shaking like a leaf, Shadow. What the hell is going on?"

"Corso, meet Bast. Bast, this gentleman has business with Ibis and Jacquel."

"Bast? Wait, you mean **_the _**Bast? The goddess?"

"You're catching on," Shadow said dryly. "Bast, our friend Jinx here has been very helpful, but I think she's a little intimidated. Be nice to her, will you?"

The goddess thought about it, licked Shadow's nose with her rough little tongue, then said something else to Jinx. Jinx replied meekly. Bast purred. Then Corso's door was pushed closed again, by a large, muscular black dog with its forepaws planted on the door as it leaned in to sniff at Corso. "Mr. Jacquel, I presume?" said Corso, looking askance at the animal.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Shadow, how delightful to see you again."

Shadow was pleased to see Corso cope with the novelty of a talking dog. "It's good to see you too, sir. We've got a problem, and you fellows are the only people I could think of who might be able to help."

"Ah, Shadow! I wondered when we might be seeing you." Mr. Ibis had joined them unobserved while Jacquel investigated Corso. As always, Shadow rediscovered how very tall the old Egyptian was...Ibis actually looked slightly younger than he had the last time Shadow had seen him. "Please, come in."

The kitchen hadn't changed; it was still brown and white and frozen in the 1920's, the ancient Kelvinator still rattling away. Corso and Jinx both looked around, wide-eyed. When Ibis offered them beer, Corso shook his head, but Shadow accepted with alacrity. As he remembered, it was extremely good beer. His travels had given him a much wider range of beers to compare it to, and it was still a contender for the best beer he'd ever tasted.

Yes, Ibis seemed more vigorous than when Shadow had originally met him. Shadow tried to think of a tactful way to broach the subject. He had a clear memory of Ibis telling him that for someone in the mortuary trade, asking how someone was could be misconstrued as scouting for business. He finally settled for, "So, what's new?"

"Urban renewal," Ibis caressed the words. "It seems that a young man who grew up here in Cairo, and made a great deal of money out in the wide world beyond us, has come home to spend it. He had a successful football career, and invested his salary wisely. Now, he wants to help his family and friends and some of the less fortunate citizens of his home town."

"That's terrific," said Shadow, and meant it, although it wasn't what he'd wanted to know.

Ibis smiled. "The young man has a number of elderly relatives."

"Not that we wish any of them ill," said a deep voice from the doorway, and there in his human semblence stood Mr. Jacquel. He, too, seemed a little taller, and walked more commandingly than he had before.

"Of course you don't," Shadow responded. "But sooner or later, they'll be in need of your services, and it's good to know you'll be paid for them."

Jacquel favored him with a smile, teeth flashing white in his dark face. "In one case, prepaid, for a very lavish send-off indeed."

Corso mumbled something to Jinx. "Excuse me?" asked Mr. Ibis.

"I just--your auras--they're spectacular. Like Cerridwyn's," he blurted, turning to Shadow. He broke off, looking abashed. "I'm sorry--" It was rare to see Corso at a loss for words. Even Bast was looking at him; he was still holding on to Jinx, and achieving a high color on his cheeks.

"Auras?" asked Jacquel. "You read auras?" There was a note of polite interest in his tone.

"Ever since Cerridwyn gave him a dose of something, and recommended he see you gentlemen," Shadow interjected.

"Did she?" Jacquel scrutinized Corso. "How unusual. She has sent business our way before, but I wonder what it is she expects this time. She would hardly have given you that elixir if she believed your days were numbered. It's extremely complicated to prepare and not something doled out lightly."

"Perhaps you might favor us with an introduction?" suggested Mr. Ibis, and Shadow realized that the men hadn't been there when he'd introduced Corso to Bast. He hastily performed the honors, making sure to also introduce Jinx.

"What seems to be the problem?" Jacquel asked Corso directly. The book dealer took a breath, and began telling the story again.

The gods exchanged glances when Corso told of the rapid decline in his health after flinging the engravings through the Gate. They questioned him closely about the Gate and the onset of symptoms. He detailed the medical findings and the lack of progress with any standard treatment. "I finally ran into an old friend in Paris, who recommended Cerridwyn--who referred me to you two."

"What treatments did she attempt?" Ibis asked. "From the sound of it, you were in worse condition when you arrived in the U.S. than you are now."

"Smudging with sage, cleansing with crystals---one of them shattered after she removed it from me---being scrubbed with sea salt, a bath with herbs, and I've been taking some kind of tonic to detox from all the meds I was on."

Shadow cleared his throat, looking significantly at the other man, who looked away. Jinx picked that moment to say something; whatever it was, he felt Bast quivering against him. The goddess asked something and was highly amused by Jinx's brief response. "Women!" Corso said under his breath.

"Was there anything else?" Mr. Ibis wanted to know.

"It was Beltane," said Shadow blandly.

"Ah," said Ibis, with comprehension. "I wouldn't think _that _was part of the actual treatment."

"There's more." Shadow told them about the events in Louisville, and Corso's worsening condition. Corso just sat there, face blank, holding Jinx against his coat and scratching behind her ears. It was the most subdued that Shadow had ever seen him.

"That certainly gives us a great deal to ponder," pronounced Jacquel. "Meanwhile, you gentlemen have had a long trip, you're undoubtedly tired. Let me show you to your rooms."

Shadow found himself in the same vintage bedroom he'd had on his previous visit, with Corso across the hall. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Bast wriggled free and hopped from his shoulder to the bed, where she began kneading the pillows. Her little comment might have been, "Alone at last!"

By the time he'd pulled his shirt off and turned around, the tawny form on the bed had lengthened, and there lay a lovely young woman displaying all her charms. Golden-amber eyes with catlike slitted pupils regarded him with pleasure.

"Yeah," said Shadow, smiling as he crossed the room. "It's good to see you, too."


	11. Dark Clouds Gather

**--Insert obligatory mumbo-jumbo here.--**

* * *

Chapter 11

Dark Clouds Gather

Shadow went downstairs to breakfast with a big grin on his face and a spring in his step. There were claw marks along his ribs, tender, but a small enough price to pay. From the tonic jug and empty juice glass on the drain board beside the sink, he deduced that Corso was already up and about, but there was no one else in the kitchen, not even Bast or Jinx. He assembled a meal from the groceries and leftovers in the Kelvinator. (Jacquel's pathology samples were on a different shelf.)

What now? he wondered as he munched on his breakfast. Ibis and Jacquel would get Corso fixed up; he wouldn't need a driver any longer...though he might need a bodyguard if The Blonde was still in the picture.

Travel was wearing thin as a novelty. Shadow hadn't seen the whole world by any stretch of the imagination, but at the moment, it was relaxing to be in a familiar place among people he knew. Did he want to spend the next thirty or forty years as an undertaker's assistant? Shadow smiled as he remembered Mr. Ibis on the evolution of political correctness: "First, we were undertakers, then we became morticians, now we're funeral directors."

The bottom line was, there were worse thing he could be doing: time, for instance. Shadow wasn't overly ambitious; the thought of days helping Jacquel and Ibis and nights spent with Bast didn't strike him as a terrible prospect.

As he rinsed off his dishes, Shadow became aware of organ music reverberating softly through the building, a limping rendition of "When the Saints Go Marching In". Not wholly inappropriate for a funeral, but unexpected nonetheless. He moved cautiously through the halls, mindful that there might be a legitimate funeral occurring. He wouldn't want to intrude on that. Maybe the hesitant organist was distracted by grief at the death of a parent, friend or mentor, or maybe--maybe Corso just didn't play the organ very well.

Corso stopped manipulating the keyboard as Shadow loomed in the doorway. "Come to save me from myself?" he asked. "It's okay, I cleared it with Ibis first."

"If you told him you could play the organ, you lied," Shadow retorted amiably.

"Yeah, I haven't played in, oh God, it must be at least thirty years."

"I thought you were a bookworm," said Shadow. "When did you manage music lessons?"

Corso shrugged. "My dad's aunt had an organ and knew how to play. She showed me a few tunes, but it wasn't lessons, exactly. For one thing, I can't read music; it's all just polka dots and pinstripes to me." He bent his head to the keyboard again. "Let's see if I remember anything else." His rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" was decent.

Corso spoke affectionately of his Aunt Mary, who'd taught him what little he knew about music, as he fumbled with "Michael, Row the Boat Ashore". Again, Shadow was struck by the fact that there was a real person in there--other than the literary snob who still looked faintly surprised every time Shadow used a word more than two syllables long.

I'm not just that big dumb guy who's only good for moving heavy objects. There's more to me than that. So why don't I expect more from him than being a jerk? That's decending to his level. His lowest level, since he's got more than one.... Just then, something warm brushed against his ankles. Shadow looked down at Bast.

_Hello!_

Shadow's eyebrows went up half an inch. "Hello to you, too," he said cautiously.

She twined about his legs, purring. _It's so good to have you back. I missed you._ Bast rubbed her whiskers against his cuffs. _You understand about me...and you're good to my people. _

_Good morning!_ That was Jinx, who had apparently overcome her awe and terror of the Cat Goddess.

"And good morning to you, Jinx."

_She's **Bast**!_ The Siamese imparted the news as earnestly as any teeny-bopper smitten with a pop star.

_He knows that._ Bast addressed the other cat patiently. The tip of Jinx's tail was twitching; she looked like she was about to start bouncing off walls at any moment.

Throughout the exchange, Corso hadn't done more than glance up from the organ. Apparently, he couldn't understand Khat any more than he could read music. Shadow's night vision had improved greatly after his other liasion with Bast; this was another interesting side-effect. But if I start hacking up hairballs, we're gonna have to talk, he thought, bemused. He crouched down, his back against the door jamb, caressing both cats. Jinx was a little shy, as if she was worried that Bast had staked a claim on him, but finally yielded to the fingers massaging the back of her neck.

"What a cozy domestic scene," said Mr. Jacquel from the hallway behind Shadow. "Like a Grant Wood painting, perhaps, entitled 'Tableau with Cats'. No, don't get up, Bast would be rather put out with me for interrupting." The doorway was wide enough for him to stride through without dislodging Shadow or the cats.

Mr. Ibis entered a few paces behind him. Corso stopped playing, looking from one god to the other.

"While we have been able to help Cerridwyn with other matters," Mr. Ibis began, "your case presents us with something of a dilemma. You see, the others, well--" Shadow didn't think he'd ever seen the talkative Mr. Ibis at a loss for words before.

"Mr. Corso," interjected Jacquel, "you're not dead. If you were dead, we might---might, possibly---be able to help, but you're not. And given the nature of the forces at work, it would be unwise to intervene. Otherwise, being dead is a fairly minor detail."

Dean Corso was staring at them with his mouth hanging open. Shadow figured he'd better say something. "You mean, what's after him could get to him before you could, if he got dead," he guessed.

"Exactly!" Mr. Ibis beamed at him. "There are a number of dimensions for the afterlife, and we are far from the only guides who travel those realms."

"The mark you've been touched with is like a beacon," Jacquel said gravely. "It will draw certain entities to you, dead or alive."

"Isn't there some way to get rid of it?" Corso asked, despairing.

"Look, what about going behind the scenes?" Shadow persisted. "Isn't there a way to do something there?"

Jacquel was shaking his head again. "Not for him," he told Shadow. "You can go there because it's part of your birthright, but he's born of man and woman. That way is closed to him."

"What's behind the scenes?" Corso still looked baffled.

"Another dimension," explained Jacquel. "Nothing that will do you any good."

"So, there's nothing you can do?" The lines of pain creasing the corners of his eyes and mouth as he winced made him appear much older than his early forties.

"There are several things we can try which should reduce your discomfort and perhaps arrest further decay," Ibis assured him. "It just isn't a cure."

"Meanwhile, we'll ask around and try to find anyone else who may be able to help." Jacquel's resonant voice was sincere, oddly comforting to be emerging from such an imposing individual.

"Thank you," said Corso.

"If you would accompany us." Mr. Ibis gestured to the door. Corso rose and the trio moved past Shadow and the cats.

_He's afraid._ Bast said suddenly. _I can smell it on him._

_He's in pain!_ Jinx sounded as if she was defending him. She darted down the hallway behind them.

"She couldn't stand him when we started out," Shadow murmured. He hadn't been invited, which was just fine by him. Whatever they had planned for Corso was probably a lot less intimate than Cerridwyn's little ritual, but he really didn't want to know.

_She's still young._ Bast sounded tolerant. _And she's quite empathic, so she reacted negatively to him until she realized that he wasn't trying to hurt her with his pain. Once she understood that he was experiencing that pain himself, she became much more sympathetic. Now, she's trying to lessen it for him._

Shadow sat with his back against the door frame, absorbing her words. Some of it was conveyed by little mews and almost subliminal purring...her body language was part of it, especially her very expressive tail. "But she can't heal him, can she?"

_No!_ A short cry. _Not even I can do that. She can soothe him, though, and help calm him. He's very agitated._ Her tail lashed about to illustrate the point.

"He doesn't act it. I mean, I know he's worried...."

_With good reason. Your friend is dying, and he knows it. It isn't a peaceful death. Dark clouds are gathering around him, smothering him. If he doesn't get help soon--_ She wailed mournfully, and Shadow shivered at the sound.


	12. That Word Again

"Good afternoon, Jacquel & Ibis Funeral Home." Shadow answered the kitchen extension of the phone carefully, using the solemn tone he'd practiced. At the moment, Ibis was downstairs doing another cleansing on Corso. After a week of daily cleansings and mystic ceremonies, Ibis was still unsatisfied with his progress, and coming up with ever more esoteric procedures. (Where _do_ you get cobra venom in Mississippi, anyway?) Meanwhile, Jacquel was out meeting with someone from the committee for urban renewal about a grant program for small businesses.

"If it isn't Wednesday Junior," a familiar, throaty voice rumbled in his ear. "Your buddy left a message for me yesterday, I'm returning his call."

Why did everyone think he and Corso were friends, Shadow wondered. "He's in with Mr. Ibis at the moment, Cerridwyn. I can give him a message, or get him to call you back."

"How's it going out there? Those boys helping him any?"

"No, they say he isn't dead enough."

She thought that was funny; her snuffling laughter came through clearly. "Not dead enough?"

"They can't do anything about that in case it draws the wrong kind of attention on the other side."

"Hmm, good point." She sounded thoughtful. "What have they tried?"

"I don't know the details. I know they've been doing ceremonies for cleansing."

"I've done some calling around. If they don't have answers, there's a gal in your neck of the woods who does a rite...I don't know if it's ever been cast for something like this, but it's not like the poor bastard's got anything to lose. Her name is Skyflower--"

Shadow rolled his eyes at the New Age pretentiousness and grabbed a pencil to scribble the info she gave him. "Got it."

"Look, when you get ahold of her, you have to keep in mind, she doesn't know anything about anything. She thinks I," Cerridwyn's tone was wry, "am a simple herbalist in New England."

"Another seeker of higher truths?" Shadow suggested.

"Exactly. What she _really _knows about gods could dance comfortably on the head of a pin. I try to keep track of the charismatic Earth Mother types, and the fact that she's had success with this ritual certainly proves she's channeling something."

"So, have him call her and say what?"

"Maybe you'd better have him call me first. How's Jinx? Having fun with Bast?"

For half a second, Shadow felt himself blushing, then he realized she was asking if _Jinx _was having fun with Bast. "Yeah, uh, yeah, they're hanging out. You wouldn't believe it, Jinx has gotten attached to Corso, is that wild, or what? Bast says she's trying to lessen his pain."

"Oh?" Cerridwyn pounced on that. "Bast says so? Since when do you speak Khat?"

Shadow mentally slapped himself upside the head. "Hey, I'm a multi-lingual kind of guy. I know how to say 'Where's your john?' in eight different languages."

"Yeah, but do you ever understand the answer?" He didn't for a minute think she'd been distracted by his retort, but she didn't pursue it. "Ah, well, tell her 'hello' for me."

"I will, and I'll have Corso call you as soon as he can."

As soon as he hung up, Shadow did smack his forehead. "I don't believe you just did that," he said to himself. He must've been spending too much time listening to Corso babble about auras. He pulled a coin from his pocket. "Misdirection only works if you don't drop the dime." He vanished FDR. "And you dropped that one big time."

It wasn't like he and Bast weren't consenting...whatever. Cerridwyn didn't need to know about any of that any more than Corso did, although he'd caught the man scrutinizing Bast's feline form curiously. The thought of the Junoesque sow goddess deciding he might be on the market was a bit scary. Junoesque...hmm, Juno was a goddess in her own right; maybe he'd better come up with a more original adjective. Porky was accurate. (Not too diplomatic, though.) Voluptuous ought to be safe enough....

Have Corso call Cerridwyn. At least he knew Corso was paying for it--Ibis and Jacquel had told him over beers last night that his friend--there was that word again--had given them a substantial sum to cover the phone bill, since they were ringing up anyone and everyone they could think of who might have a solution to Corso's problem. When they'd told him how substantial, Shadow whistled appreciatively. They could afford conference calls to several small Third World countries with that much cash.

On his second beer of the evening, Shadow worked up enough nerve to mention what he'd been wondering since his return. "I'm not trying to pry," he said, tracing the wet ring left by his glass on the tabletop, "but I've gotta say, you guys are looking good. Better than the last time I was here. What's up with that?"

Ibis and Jacquel exchanged glances. "A modest resurgence," Mr. Ibis confided. "A greater awareness on the part of the general public in our humble selves."

"This urban renewal jazz?"

Jacquel gave a deep bark of laughter.

"Moving pictures," Ibis enlarged helpfully. "It seems that over the last few years, there have been several moving pictures about ancient Egypt."

Shadow nodded. Although he hadn't tried sitting through a lot of American movies with foreign subtitles or dubbed dialogue during his time abroad, he knew which ones Ibis meant. "They're not true, though."

"No, but it stirred up an interest in our culture. There were the pictures, and television made some documentaries as well."

"An awareness has been raised, as my partner says." Jacquel raised his glass. "Not quite as effective as being worshiped, but certainly better than fading away."

"Indeed," said Ibis. "We haven't felt this much attention since they discovered Tutankhamon's tomb."

"Was that, by any chance, during the 1920's?" asked Shadow, glancing around the dated kitchen.

"Nineteen twenty-six," Ibis beamed.

Shadow grinned to himself. Hollywood!

The kitchen door opened, and Corso entered, wafting a peculiar odor. "Don't ask," the other man said before Shadow could do more than wince at the aroma. "I know. It stinks. But according to Mr. Ibis, it's supposed to repel lesser demons."

"And everybody else. Whew! Hey, while you were out rolling in something dead, Cerridwyn called. She's got a line on some ritual for you to try. Give her a call back."

"When did she call?"

"Ten, twenty minutes ago, maybe." Shadow rose from the table. "I'll be out on the porch." He escaped the kitchen as Corso picked up the phone.

There was an old cane-bottomed rocking chair on the back porch, and Shadow sat carefully down on it. It creaked slightly at his weight, but didn't wobble, and he slowly rocked, looking out at the neighborhood. The foundation of a new building graced the lot to the right of the funeral parlor, and the big Victorian house on the other side had a fresh coat of paint. Was this part of the resurgence Ibis had spoken of, or did urban renewal just happen to coincide with renewed awareness?

Shadow wasn't sure how long he sat there, rocking, thinking of what his future here might be like. If--when--he could get Corso taken care of. Damned if he knew why it was his problem. He didn't want Corso to remind him of himself.

Who, me? I'm no college boy. I'm not an intellectual. Look at where all that got him. He's in the middle of something he barely understands, with strangers trying to kill him. Yeah, and I remember how _that_ feels. At least I had people telling me what was what, some of the time, anyway....

When I offered him a ride from the airport, I thought it was gonna be simple--drop him somewhere in Massachusetts and go on my way, but that's not how it turned out. It wouldn't've made much of a difference, would it? Shadow wondered. Cerridwyn would've sent Corso here anyway. No, he'd never have made it this far, Shadow was sure of that. Considering how bad his condition was when they landed, Corso would probably have collapsed at the baggage pickup or the car rental counter and been hauled into some hospital to die. Or would've driven off the road on the way to Cerridwyn's house. If by some miracle he'd made it that far, The Blonde waylaying him somewhere between there and here was a high probability.

As he was reaching that conclusion, the back door clattered, and Corso walked out. "I've talked to Cerridwyn, and the woman she recommended--she calls herself Skyflower. She's meeting us in Arkansas. She wants us there the day after tomorrow, something about the positive influence of the moon phase." He grinned wryly. "She says it's an agricultural ritual. I'm thinking crop circles, what do you think?"

"Us, huh? You're in decent shape to drive, what do you need me for?"

Corso grew quiet. "You're not going?" He looked alarmed at the idea. "Please, Shadow--if _she _shows up I'm as good as dead!"

"I'm going." Shadow sighed. "You need a keeper, Corso."

The other man looked away. When he spoke, his voice was husky. "No. I need a friend I can trust."


	13. Pulp Friction

"I should know by now not to let him get anywhere near a bookstore," Shadow muttered. There was an aging strip mall beside the convenience store where he'd stopped for gas, and Corso had been lured across the parking lot by "Brenda's Used Books". The two of them were on their way to meet Skyflower for the ritual; Jinx remained in Cairo; the allure of worshipping at the paws of Bast hadn't worn off yet.

He followed Corso over to the bookstore after he'd finished filling the tank, relieved to see mostly worn paperbacks filling the shelves, not the kind of distinctive volumes Baltimore had boasted. They didn't have any books on magic, but he found several 50's era pulps, macho detective stories with airbrushed dames on their covers. He grabbed a handful, thinking some mindless reading matter might be a welcome distraction if he had to wait awhile for Corso and Skyflower.

Brenda--at least he presumed she was the freckle-faced blonde behind the register--was chatting with another customer, something about late nights playing on the computer. Chalk up another one for techno boy, thought Shadow. Unfortunately, that was one god who wasn't suffering any lack of popularity. His companion was perusing a row of books--the only row of books--in what was optimistically called the "New Age" section.

"Anything?" Shadow asked. Corso held up his selection. "Crop circles? You're kidding, right?"

"Hey, at least I'm throwing a little business her way," the other man hissed back. "Now I know where airport books go to die."

Huh? Shadow was mystified by that last comment, but his companion was headed toward the front counter as Brenda's talkative friend departed with an armful of romance novels.

As Corso took the receipt for his purchase, Shadow handed over his finds. "That'll be four dollars and sixty-eight cents," the girl told him with a bright smile.

Corso reached out and intercepted the girl's hand. "You can't sell him those books at that price!"

"Look, mister, I know the cover price is only 35 cents, but my minimum price is a dollar a book."

"What I'm saying is, they're worth a lot more than that."

"Those old things?" she asked in disbelief. The brittle paperbacks were at least thirty years older than she was. "I've got two cartons of them I haven't even unpacked!"

The book dealer nodded solemnly. "Shadow, I'm surprised at you, taking advantage of the poor girl that way."

"What?!" What a pair of brass ones this guy had!

"Books like those are big in the nostalgia market," Corso told the young woman. "You can get a lot more than four dollars for any one of them, if you know who to go to."

"Not around here, I can't."

"Did I hear you say you have a computer?"

"Uh-huh." She led them around a partition to a beige dinosaur that looked ancient even to Shadow. "Help yourself, as long as you don't go running to any porn sites."

"Trust me." Shadow watched bemused as Corso began tapping away at the keyboard. Corso'd never impressed him as an e-geek, but he obviously knew what he was doing. "Okay, look." The dealer held up one of Shadow's picks and pointed at the screen. "This is how much a copy of this title went for recently on eBay."

Brenda squeaked, eyes wide, and Shadow's jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding!" he blurted.

Corso looked smug. "I'll bookmark this for you. I know a few of the dealers who specialize in this genre--" A website popped up. "What have we here? Feldman's got that title....I guarantee, if he's charging that much retail, he'd pay at least 40 of that, cash." He saved it for her. "Let's see what Maguire's got...."

Brenda took notes furiously for the next twenty minutes as Corso was charming and informative about the market for old pulps. Shadow kept a grip on his temper with an effort as Corso glanced reproachfully at him, tsk-tsking from time to time.

"I'll be waiting in the car," he said finally, and stalked out empty-handed.

It was another fifteen minutes before Corso exited the bookstore, sliding his clip-on sunglasses into place. Shadow watched him call something back over his shoulder to Brenda. He was in a rare good mood as he climbed into the car.

"Think you're pretty funny, don't you?" his driver said with a scowl.

Corso grinned. "The look on your face!"

"Cut the crap. You didn't do all that as a favor to that kid. That was a great, big 'Fuck you, Shadow'."

Corso's grin faded and he shook his head. "No," he said quietly.

"No, what? No, that wasn't a 'fuck you'? 'Cause I read it differently."

"That kid, as you call her, is as innocent as a baby chick. She's just bumbling along with her little hole-in-the-wall bookstore in her one-horse town--it's one thing when it's a grown woman who's trying to pretend she's an expert in the big city, but this kid? Jesus, Shadow--even I'm not that much of an asshole."

"And you wanted to yank my chain."

"Yeah, a little," admitted Corso, with a ghost of his earlier grin. He pulled a brown paper bag from a pocket of his disreputable coat. "Merry Christmas."

"What the hell?"

"The sales slip is in the bag," added Corso, "so you know I didn't pull any fast ones."

Shadow looked at the books he'd put back. Looked at the receipt, with a total that broke the three-figure mark. He looked over at Corso, who gazed levelly back at him. "Is she really going to be able to sell the rest of them for this kind of money, or were you just raising her hopes?"

"She should, if she listens to what I told her. Am I forgiven?" He extended a hand, waiting.

Shadow took Corso's outstretched hand and pumped it. "You're okay. Thanks." He glanced at the astounding total at the bottom of the sales slip again. "A little crazy, maybe...." Securing the books, he put the car into gear.

"Something else," Corso said, a couple miles down the road. "while I was in there, she got a call."

"Uh-huh."

"I told you about Bernie Orenstein, right?"

Shadow reviewed the story he'd heard so many times. "That's your friend in New York, the one they hanged in his store?"

"Yeah." Corso tapped down the ends his cigarette before lighting it. "While Brenda was on the phone, I pulled up the website for Bernie's Rare Books."

"And?"

"There was a notice on there, front and center, for anyone knowing the whereabouts of Dean Corso to call Stewart Rodenbaugh, Esquire."

"A lawyer?"

"Not just a lawyer. He's Bernie's cousin."

"What am I missing here?"

Corso sighed. "I knew Bernie since college. He was being groomed by his uncle, the original Bernie, to take over the family business. They helped me get a good price on those books from the trunk."

"What about this lawyer guy?"

"Bernie hooked us up a long time ago. I've used Stew whenever I've had legal issues." He blew a trail of smoke out of the window. "And before you say it, no, nothing major. A landlord/tenant dispute, once in a while a hassle with customs over a book. He's good at what he does."

"What does he want you for?"

"That's what I'm afraid to find out. I could be the prime suspect in his cousin's murder. I don't know. I left for Europe that night...."

"You could call him. We're gonna have some time on our hands this afternoon."

"No." Corso stubbed the butt out. "If that's what it is, I'll settle it when this mess is over. I don't want to call him now. All that would accomplish is to give them somewhere to start looking if I _am _a suspect."

"Okay."

"If this doesn't work," Corso spoke hesitantly, "if I end up dead--Shadow, call Stewart for me, please? Let him know how sorry I am about Bernie."

"You're not gonna wind up dead," Shadow said emphatically. "At least not any time soon."

"If _she _shows up...."

"If _she _shows up, _she's _gonna have to go through me to get to you." Shadow realized he meant it. With his connections, being dead wouldn't have the same consequences for him as it would for Corso. "I'd be in no condition to tell anybody anything, Dean. Maybe you should write the guy a letter. We could be five states away by the time he gets it."

"That's a good idea." The other man was looking at him, a questioning expression on his face.

"What?"

"You know, in all this time, you've never called me by my given name before."

* * *

A/N: If you don't catch the reference to "airport books", my short "Reminiscence" covers Corso's philosophy on the subject.

If you're wondering why my posts have slowed down lately, it's because I'm aiming to post certain events on Halloween, for reasons I'll explain later. Hope everyone's enjoying it...even those of you who aren't reviewing--tsk-tsk!


	14. Sage and Skyflower

The rendezvous was at--of all places--a cemetery a couple miles outside of Sage, Arkansas. Arriving long before the meeting time, they'd hoped Corso could rest during the worst daylight hours, but the little town had no motels--not even a darkened movie theater for diversion. Shadow got lunches to go from a diner while Corso made some purchases at a dusty general store.

They drove on, looking for Shell Cemetery Road.The ritual would take place in a nearby field, but their contact had said that the old graveyard had paving that would keep their vehicles from getting mired in case of rain. Rain seemed unlikely, but at least there were shade trees. Shadow parked under the biggest one to give Dean as much relief as possible. Corso spent the time in the backseat with a spiral-bound notebook propped up against his knee, writing the letter Shadow had suggested.

To pass the time, Shadow studied a coin trick from "On Magic". Knowing how much the old pulps were worth, he felt funny about handling them. Although Corso's insinuation had been that that book--being autographed by Houdini himself--was worth much more, Shadow knew he'd paid five dollars for it; that was what it was worth, period.

When a minivan pulled into the little cemetery later that afternoon, Dean shut his notebook and climbed out of the car. Shadow slid "On Magic" into the thigh pocket of his cargo pants and joined his friend. Skyflower was enthusiastic--three people would have a more numerologically significant impact on the ritual than two. Shadow resigned himself to joining in the fun.

Skyflower wasn't quite what Shadow had expected. Imagination had supplied an aging, tye-dyed Flower Child, complete with long hair and love beads, or an anemic Gothling laden with pentacles, talismans, and too much eye makeup, clad in black from head to toe. Instead, the woman who met them was brisk and thirty-ish, well-tanned and garbed in neatly pressed khaki slacks and camp shirt, wearing no makeup at all that Shadow could tell. The only thing around her neck was a business-like compass on a lanyard. Carrying a clipboard, she looked more like a phys-ed coach or camp counselor than Cerridwyn's so-called "Earth Mother" type.

"Tell me again what you want to accomplish?" she asked. "You mentioned healing on the phone; what exactly is the problem?"

Corso answered with his old charm. "I've been to a series of doctors and none of them has been able to pinpoint the problem. It's been suggested to me that there may be an underlying problem of a spiritual nature which needs to be addressed." Every word of what he'd said was the truth--leaving out the more sordid details.

"Like a curse," Shadow contributed. While Cerridwyn had been definite about what not to tell this woman, it didn't seem right to hold out something with so much potential for backfiring.

"Curses have a kharmic rebound on anyone foolish enough to cast them. I'll specify that any ill-will is being returned to sender." Shadow had a sinking feeling. This woman had no idea what she was up against.

As she busied herself with the compass, he edged over to Dean. "I don't know about this."

"Me neither, but I'm running out of options fast," hissed Corso out of the corner of his mouth.

"You can read her freaking aura," Shadow muttered back. "Does she have a clue, or not?"

Corso gave the woman a sidelong look. "Down to earth, confident--she believes she can do something....I've got an idea." Skyflower scribbled on the clipboard, referring to the compass, then jotting down more numbers as they strolled over. "Excuse me," Corso murmured. She held up a finger, finished the calculation. Tucking her pen behind her ear, she looked at him. "I was wondering," Corso said with his most engaging grin. "Can you tell me what my aura looks like? And his?"

She beamed at him, moving to one side so that the setting sun wasn't directly behind him. "Green," she said decisively. "Quite dark, spruce green, I'd say. A lovely shade with the light behind it." Looking at Shadow, her expression became perplexed. "I've _never _seen an aura like yours before," she said, staring at him. "It's...metallic. Sort of silver-grey, bluish at the edges."

"Well?" Shadow asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

Dean looked worried. "I'm not sure," He reached for a cigarette, looked at the knee-high stalks and nodded toward where the car was parked. "Yours, yeah, she's probably right about never having seen anything like it before--there aren't many sons of gods running around out there, are there? And that wasn't a bad description of it. But mine? Shadow, if I had the aura she was describing, I wouldn't have a worry in the world. It's green, alright, but it's more swamp than spruce."

"Was she being diplomatic, or is she full of shit?"

They walked back across the field to the cemetery, a couple hundred yards, and Corso lit up. "She has _some _talent," he admitted.

"But you have more." Shadow remembered Cerridwyn administering the elixir. "Funky shrimp and all. Do you want to go through with this or not?"

"We're here, we may as well." They watched Skyflower covertly as she consulted her notes and pounded stakes with fabric pennons in at intervals. "Cerridwyn says she's had some success, and she certainly _looks _like she knows what she's doing."

"And if it doesn't work?" Shadow hated to ask, but they needed to get this out in the open.

"I don't know. Our friends in Cairo tried every trick in the book. Can you think of anybody else at all?"

"I know a god in Florida," Shadow said, thinking of Mr. Nancy. "He's not a healer, not that I know of, anyway. He's down in Fort Pierce--and doesn't have a phone, so they wouldn't've had any way to get in touch with him."

Corso smiled tiredly. "When you were in school, did they ever make you write, 'How I Spent My Summer Vacation'? If I wrote this shit down, I'd get sent to counseling." The blast of a whistle in the field startled them. Skyflower, of course. Corso crushed out his smoke in the ashtray and they hiked back out to where she waited.

"It's almost time," she said, looking up at the deepening blue of the heavens. "Let me explain to you what will happen. First, I'm going to cast a circle of protection. Then I'll name you as the person the ritual is dedicated to helping. I'll need a donation from you, hair or blood." Skyflower pulled an no-nonsense blade from the tote she'd had the stakes in. "I won't need much of either."

"Blood," Corso said without hesitation.

"After I've drawn blood, I'll drive my blade into the ground at the center of the circle. You'll feel the wind pick up, and whatever you do, don't break the circle, either of you. Stay here until the wind's died down and I've released the elements. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly," Corso nodded. They stood there a moment longer, and Shadow wondered what they were waiting for. He got the answer when Skyflower's watch begin to buzz. She turned it off, held up the dagger, and began the ritual.

Striding the perimeter of the circle, clockwise, her voice rang out distinctly, calling the spirits of north, east, south and west and invoking the elements of earth, water, air and fire. Returning to where they stood, she proclaimed their intention to seek healing for Dean Corso. Corso extended his hand, and she nicked it slightly, enough for a red streak along the edge of the blade.

"Great Mother, we ask Your healing!" Skyflower intoned, stabbing the dagger hilt-deep into the Arkansas soil.

They waited tensely. The wind didn't pick up; if anything, there was less of a breeze than there'd been a moment ago. Skyflower looked expectant, Corso tense. Shadow thought he smelled smoke; for a moment, he wondered if somehow embers from Corso's cigarette had drifted. Then he saw a faint haze of in the air. "What's that?"

Corso turned to look, went ashen. "Something's wrong," Skyflower said at the same time. The phenomenon came closer, smoke rising in waves, each band closer than the one before. There was no sign of fire, but black lines seemed to be etching themselves into the vegetation, spiraling ever nearer. It stopped about twenty feet away, just beyond the stakes ringing the circle.

"The circle is the only thing keeping it out," said Corso, sounding remarkably calm--or in shock, Shadow thought. He was looking at something Shadow couldn't see. Some kind of aura? One of the spirits Skyflower had summoned? Whatever it was, patches of the crops beyond the circle where they stood were now black and shriveled.

Shadow cleared his throat. "Can you get rid of whatever it is? Say 'thanks, but no thanks'?"

Her voice shaking, Skyflower thanked the powers attending for their aid and bade them depart. She wrenched the ceremonial knife from the earth.

"It's gone now." Corso exhaled. "I don't think that worked."

The rite's mistress looked first at him, then at the ruins of the field, and shook her head. "I don't know what just happened," she said, "but it wasn't favorable. Good luck, Mr. Corso...you're going to need it." She strode away swiftly. At the perimeter of the circle, she swung her knife as if slashing something. Suddenly, Shadow smelled the reek of scorched crops, a nasty stench of ashes, sulfur and decay.

As soon as he crossed the perimeter, Corso began to choke. "Shadow!" he gasped, sagging to the ground. Shadow hoisted the other man over his shoulder, heading for the car. Crossing too many of those black lines could be fatal for Corso; he found himself traveling in a long spiral to get away from the ritual site. The graveyard, just a couple hundred yards distant in a straight line, was considerably farther away in an ever-widening circle.

* * *

A/N--Stay tuned: the next installment will post after midnight, EST, on Halloween morning.... 

Oh, and btw, there _is_ a town called Sage, Arkansas _and_ a Shell Cemetery Road in the nearby countryside...the names are all I know about these locations and I used them because they fit in with the tone of the story. No disrespect is intended in any way. vanillafluffy


	15. The Bone Orchard

By the time they reached the graveyard, Shadow felt light-headed from smoke inhalation and winded from his burden. There was no sign of Skyflower's vehicle; apparently she'd bailed without regard for her petitioners, by the most direct route possible. At the moment, Shadow bitterly hoped the woman's lungs imploded for her desertion. He leaned the still-unconscious Corso against the side of the car as he fumbled with the handle. Tired, senses fogged by the long trek through the smoke-hazed field, the blow to his head took him by surprise, and knocked him unconscious.  
  
When Shadow's awareness returned, his hands were bound behind him, and the edge of a gravestone dug into his ribs. The Bone Orchard, he thought woozily, remembering the image that had once given him nightmares. His head pounded. Somewhere not far away, he heard Dean half-screaming, half-choking, and laughter rippling through the air. Her again.  
  
Think, Shadow told himself. Or we're both dead. He remembered his bold words earlier, that The Blonde would have to go through him to get to Corso--and she had. She'd picked him off while his back was turned--what did you expect, honor among demons? Corso's voice in his head asked sardonically.  
  
The side of the stone was too worn and weathered for him to saw his bonds against. Raising his head, he could see them near the car. He lay at least thirty feet away from them, but his night vision showed The Blonde bending over Corso's prone form. It looked like she was taking his clothes off. A distraction would be good, but how could he create a diversion while he was tied up? Misdirection. It was the basic rule for every magician. Make her concentrate on something else. Like what--?  
  
--Isn't being the son of a god good for anything?--  
  
The weather, thought Shadow. I don't think a blizzard in May is gonna work, but rain? It might help wash away all this smoke too, before Dean loses a lung. He sounds really bad.... The time he'd called the snowstorm had been a game for him; he hadn't honestly believed anything would happen. Now, he was in deadly earnest, but he had the advantage of knowing it could be done.  
  
Breathing slowly and deeply, trying to tune out the cries of his friend, Shadow went to the quiet place inside his head. Spring rain. Moisture. Call it forth from every plume of mist, the evaporation from lakes, ponds and rivers, form it into thick, juicy gray clouds, saturated with rain. Guide the brimming cloud cover here, spattering the countryside with its liquid contents, dowsing the evil smoke in the air and hiding the moon's light.  
  
Fat raindrops pelted Shadow as he lay there, straining at his bonds, thinking that at the moment, it would've been a lot handier to specialize in rope escapes than coin tricks. Damn, where was Harry Houdini when you needed him?  
  
"Oh, I've been dead for a quite while now, or so I understand," said a nearby voice, and Shadow turned his head to see a hazy image that looked familiar from an old photograph--the frontspiece of his book. "Fortunately, she only tied your hands. It's a pity you weren't awake when she tied you; if you'd been able to flex your muscles properly, you'd be free by now."  
  
"Thanks," muttered Shadow. Maybe it was a reflection, an illusion--no, the dimness was no more of an annoyance to him than it would've been to a cat. Even now, with the lunar face veiled by weeping clouds, he could see The Blonde bending over Corso, smiling and speaking teasingly to him as her touch made him scream.  
  
"Nice trick with the rain, by the way. Even I couldn't do that one."  
  
"It's not a trick. Can you give me a hand here?"  
  
"That's what makes it such a good one." It was odd; Shadow could see the raindrops all around him; not going through him as if he wasn't there, but not rolling down him as if he was there. Harry Houdini sighed. "I'd help if I could, but alas, physically we're not on the same plane."  
  
"Any helpful hints?" Shadow gritted his teeth at the sounds Dean was making. "My friend needs help."  
  
"Breathe deeply. Oxygenate your lungs and relax." Houdini's voice was low and compelling. "The way you're tied...your captor has made mistakes we can exploit." Listening to those velvety tones, Shadow could detach himself from the urgency of the situation. "It will make a difference as to whether you're left- or right-handed, you won't want to do this with your dominant side." Shadow concentrated on the magician's words, trying to focus on individual muscle groups. When he got stuck, Houdini talked him through the process. The pain made him gasp. Houdini was calm. "You've never dislocated a shoulder before? It gets easier with practice. You're doing very well. Now, roll onto your other side...."  
  
When the bonds slipped away, Shadow would've risen up to do battle then and there, shoulder or no shoulder, but Houdini counseled patience. "Breathe. Deeply. Be calm. Can you intensify this storm? That vehicle is a large metal object, you know."  
  
The feeling was starting to come back to Shadow's hands; he rubbed his wrists, trying to encourage circulation. Intensify the storm? Who do I look like, Thor? Shadow wanted to retort.  
  
Why not? If he'd created it--and he knew he had--he should be able to make it stronger. Go back into that quiet place at the center. Think of thunder. Rumbling. Shaking the earth. Static, all the friction produced by the movement of crops and trees and every ant and insect in the fields....building....growing....  
  
"If your skills permit, you might attempt to time the strike so that you can realign your shoulder," Houdini advised him. "That way, the noise will offer misdirection in case you should cry out. It's going to be quite painful."  
  
Great. Create lightning, aim it, try not to hit the guy who's life I'm trying to save, and perform an orthopedic procedure on myself at the same time. No problem. Want to go first and show me how it's done? Shadow dragged himself over to be able to use the side of an upright tombstone to pull his shoulder back in place. "Are you a ghost?"  
  
"Close enough." Houdini smiled secretively. "The things I didn't know when I was alive!"  
  
The back of his neck prickled. The lightning was ready to spill over. As the cascading plasmic energy forked down from the heavens, Shadow took a deep breath and slammed his shoulder against the hard marble. He wasn't sure which was brighter, the lightning in the sky or the lightning in his shoulder. Getting it back in hurt more than popping it in the first place, which was saying something.  
  
"I believe you can handle it from here, Shadow." The apparition was gone then. Shadow blinked and wondered if he'd hallucinated the whole thing. He couldn't hear Corso anymore; that worried him enough to get him to his feet, reeling.  
  
The Blonde hadn't been hit, he was sorry to see, but she stood surveying the lightning damage to a tree just yards from where she stood, its fallen branches a tumble of old bones. Her back was to him, and Shadow had no intention of fighting fair. He charged, throwing himself at her, enraged by the glimpse he'd caught of Corso, lying spread-eagled, naked and muddy and ominously still.  
  
Her reflexes were good; she went down, but rolled away before he could land atop her. A fresh bolt of pain went through Shadow's shoulder as he sprawled full-length in the muck, but now it only served to enrage him more. He grabbed her ankle as she tried to squirm away from him. The Blonde twisted around and threw a punch that caught him on the same side of the head she'd hit to knock him out. The world spun dizzily around him. He let go of her ankle, but before she could move, backhanded her.  
  
Shadow's blow rocked her head back. While she was recovering, he got his feet under him and lunged. He caught one of her wrists and held it above her head. With her free hand, she kept trying to smash his windpipe, but he managed to deflect her jabs. After a struggle, he grabbed her other hand and yanked it up so he could pin down both wrists with one of his hand. Which, unfortunately, was attached to his bad shoulder, but Shadow managed to lock his muscles into a solid column with all his weight above it.  
  
He got a fistful of blonde hair and glared at her. _"Bitch, you are so dead." _He wasn't sure if he said it aloud or not, but at that instant, it was the sole purpose of his existance.  
  
Thunder rumbled around them. He could feel the rage welling up, the adrenalin crackling through him. Light seemed to be coming off of his forearms and he felt an incandescent surge of power. The lightning was coming again. Good! Let it fry him to a pork rind if that would take her with him!  
  
A rusted wrought-iron border less than a foot from The Blonde's imprisoned wrists was slagged by the blast. As the energy grounded to earth, the shock knocked them away from each other. Shadow was catapulted against the side of the car, hit it and bounced, landing on his hands and knees, stunned.  
  
The Blonde was writhing, trying to get up. If she was alive, she was still a danger. _"I'm not through with you!"_ This time there was no doubt in his mind that she heard him. He was pleased to see true fear in her green eyes. She struggled wildly, regaining her feet and limping, staggering, fleeing from him, from her victim....  
  
Corso. Shadow got up, limped over to the fallen man. Dean's chest made faint, shallow flutterings of breath. His eyes rolled back in his head. His body trembled spastically. He looked worse than he had on the plane, worse than Shadow thought a human being could look and still live.  
  
As carefully as he could, Shadow lifted the other man. His much-abused shoulder screamed a protest, but he clenched his jaw and got Dean into the back seat, covering him with that ratty old coat of his. He got behind the wheel, said a prayer that the lightning hadn't discharged the battery, and turned the key.

* * *

Although the events of this chapter occur in May, Harry Houdini died on October 31st, 1926. Happy Halloween!

Blessed Be.


	16. Motel Hell

Driving as fast as he dared, Shadow swore to himself as he gunned the sedan away from the Shell Road cemetery that if he saw The Blonde anywhere, he'd floor it and turn her into road kill. No such luck. The rain continued to pour down, all the way out to the main road, where the next few miles saw it die away entirely. Weather conditions were only half of Shadow's concern; the consequences of a traffic stop with an unconscious naked man in the back seat were too heinous to think about for very long.

The nearest motel was almost 40 miles away. Shadow pulled a fistful of cash from Corso's satchel and got a single room. The guy behind the front desk gave him a wide-eyed look, but Shadow blew him off with an involved story about changing a flat tire in the rain. Improvisational bullshit was obviously an inherited trait, he thought with satisfaction as the clerk handed him the key.

The far side of the motel was deserted, no other cars nearby. Carrying Corso in, Shadow laid him down on the double bed. At once, he curled into a fetal position on one side, his eyes tightly closed as Shadow carefully removed his glasses. What animal was it that curled into a ball for protection? Possums? Porcupines? Dean Corso could give them lessons.

Grabbing the biggest towel he could find, he wet it down with hot water and went back over to the bed. It took some coaxing to get the wounded man to move. Shadow was too tired and Corso was too badly hurt for a struggle. Dean's back was filthy and scratched. Shadow wiped him clean as best he could, trying not to cause any unnecessary pain. Corso's ribs showed like a washboard, and his collarbones were pronounced. He had almost no muscle tone to speak of. Had it been this bad before tonight?

In the dimness--only the light over the sink was on--it looked like Corso's dark hair was frosted with silver. As Shadow gently daubed away the mud, he could see that the age lines on Dean's face were much sharper. Anyone looking at his passport would've thought he was the father of the man in the picture.

There was no telling how lucid Dean was; if he came around, it was better for him to know he was with someone he trusted. Making trips back and forth, rinsing out the towel with fresh, hot water, Shadow talked quietly, letting Corso know they were safe. Shadow never pictured himself in the role of ministering angel, but he couldn't very well leave Corso muddy and shivering. Trying to get the other man in and out of a bathtub...no, not with his shoulder feeling like somebody had hit it with a baseball bat.

Damn, the poor guy was really a mess. Red welt-like marks streaked and splotched Corso's body where The Blonde had touched him. Shadow noticed distinct handprints where she'd restrained her victim. He blotted Dean's taut skin as carefully as he was able. She'd really gone to town on him. There were several places where it looked like she'd been doodling on his bare flesh just for fun. As angry as Shadow felt toward The Blonde at that moment, it was difficult to keep his hands gentle as he tended his friend.

If not for the faint, wounded animal noises Dean was making, Shadow would've checked for a pulse. "I don't know what to do, Dean," he said out loud. "Should I take you to Mr. Nancy? I don't know for sure if he can do anything, and Florida's a hell of a long way off. I can try to get you back to Cairo. Maybe there's something they can do if--"

He stopped. He couldn't say the words. Jacquel and Ibis had hinted that if Corso were dead, they might be able to help. It seemed like his only chance at that point was to try to get his friend back there fast. If he and Ibis and Jacquel could be there, waiting when Corso died--right now, that looked unavoidable--maybe there was _something _they could do. Maybe.

Methodically, tasting ash and bile in his throat, Shadow continued to blot the dirt from Dean's emaciated form. "I'll get you back to Ibis and Jacquel. They'll know what to do." Corso groaned. "Dean? Can you hear me? I'm gonna get you back to Cairo."

"Noooo." One hand flailed weakly, landed on Shadow's forearm as much by luck as intent. The big man bent closer to hear the sick man's words. "Old...too old.... She'd kill them...both."

"They're the only chance you've got!" said Shadow angrily.

"Not worth it. Won't let them...Florida...you said...Florida...."

Fuck. The worst part was, Corso was probably right. The more he thought about it, the more involving Jacquel and Ibis sounded like a bad idea. He rested his free hand lightly on Dean's shoulder. "Okay, Florida it is. You try to get some rest. I'm gonna get myself cleaned up."

He went swiftly back and forth to the car for clean clothes. It wasn't until he pulled the room divider to keep the light from disturbing Dean that Shadow saw how bad he himself looked. His shirt was a shredded, blackened rag. He peeled it off, wincing, and pitched it into the trash pail. Mud and dried grass streaked his body. Looking at the side of his scalp, he saw a knot that was going to make shaving a touchy subject for the next few days. Both knees of his pants were holed, and their cuffs were tattered and singed. Shadow stripped down the rest of the way, emptying his pockets of wallet, passport and...

Rediscovering the book in his thigh pocket, Shadow thought of the incident in the graveyard. He couldn't quite believe it had happened. He opened the book and leafed through it to the portrait. Yes, that was the man from the Shell Road Cemetery. There was a twinkle in Houdini's eyes in the picture, the twinkle of a man who knows secrets he's not telling.

The signed title page was opposite the old photograph. Where the fading black ink had read simply "Harry Houdini" when he first purchased the book, now the inscription was: "Shadow--I still think it's a nice trick! Harry Houdini".

Shadow stared at the words for a moment. The script didn't appear any different from the style of the original signature--it looked like the same bold penmanship from the same fountain pen. The signature was in the same place--the lower right hand corner of the page--it seemed like the new writing had been there all along and just bled out of the paper.

"Thanks," Shadow said out loud, then closed the book, put it down with the rest of his things, and went in to take a shower. Cleaner, but no more refreshed, he checked on Corso again. Not good. His friend seemed unconscious, but Shadow heard a low mumble as he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. He leaned closer. "What, Dean? I can't hear you."

"My fault...all of it...she told me...why...told me...all the things I ever did...screwed people over...they wanted me...to destroy myself...." Silent agony halted him for a moment. "I did it to myself...even if I didn't...go through the Gate...they still got me."

Dean Corso's face was twisted with pain, but it was his tone that got to Shadow. It sounded too much like he was giving up; Shadow heard defeat in the sorrowing note to his voice and saw it in the way his eyes didn't quite track.

"Hang on!" he pleaded. It was getting easier to access that inner stillness; Shadow rested one hand on Dean's forehead, covering the smudge of taint, let his other hand hold his friend's in a loose handshake.

This wasn't like shaping the weather...this cloud was much thicker and more damaging. Years of moral compromises and rationalizations had shaped Corso's conscience into an overgrown no-man's land. There had been a time when Shadow had had to face judgement on the state of his own soul; he knew how many tiny wrongs could build up on a man's heart and render him sick with guilt. He thought it was quite possible that guilt was killing his friend as much as infernal radiation sickness.

Carefully, very carefully, he chopped away at it--it was like hacking his way through a dense jungle with a dull machete. In addition, he tried to offer Dean reassurance. It wasn't too late to start over. Corso was forty-one, that wasn't old. He could reinvent himself as the person he wanted to be, there was still time--if he'd just hang on....

Corso's subconscious was tangled, sprouting bitter weeds. In its thick foliage, a predator waited for opportunities, not suffering fools. "Is that really what you want?" Shadow asked him. "You're not that much of an asshole, remember?" Something growled at him. "And I'm not selling you my Houdini book for fifty bucks, either."

He heard it retreating, the leaves rustling with its passage, growing fainter. Around him, the rank foliage closed in. "You can't do anything about the past except put it behind you, Dean." He whacked at the jungle. "Everybody who ever did you wrong probably isn't losing as much sleep over it as you are. Give it up." This was as hard as if he was actually swinging a machete. "Let it go. Look ahead. You've got a future, you just have to show up." The last of the weeds fell. Then, like watching the crops in the field shrivel away, they were gone, but instead of black, smoking ruin, faint green blades of grass broke the ground like a newly seeded lawn.

Shadow was exhausted from the long day, but he remained there, holding on, giving as much of his own strength as he could to his friend. Presently, Corso stirred. "Shadow? That you?"

"Hey, Dean. How're you feeling?"

"Better. Slept a little. Dreamed about a tiger."

I'll bet you did, Shadow thought. He yawned. "Sleep some more. I'm gonna catch a few myself. We want to hit the road early."

"She's afraid of you," Dean said suddenly. "Because you're not afraid of her...." His eyes closed then, and Shadow tensed, but Corso's breathing was slow and even. He'd stopped trembling.

You wouldn't think two adult men could fit in one double bed, Shadow thought. He took up a goodly amount of space all by himself. Corso was a mere twig beside him, so if Shadow rolled onto his side--luckily, _not _onto the shoulder he'd had to dislocate--they fitted the bed and each other comfortably. He didn't dream.


	17. If You Meet the Buddha

The day after their escapade in the graveyard, Shadow slept much later than he'd intended. It was nearly noon, and when he saw how weak Dean was, decided they might be better off resting through the remainder of the day and driving by night. Corso was sensitive to light under the best of circumstances, which these certainly weren't. There was a coffee shop attached to the motel; getting soup for Corso and a burger for himself, Shadow fed them both, then crawled under the covers and went back to sleep.

Shadow woke to a thud and groaning. He found Corso struggling on the floor. He hurried over to his fallen friend, sore shoulder protesting the effort.

"Don't fuss," muttered Corso, who seemed more embarrassed than anything else. He'd apparently been awake long enough to make an attempt at shaving, and his clothes lay heaped around his prone body.

"Maybe you should save your strength," Shadow suggested, helping him to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Florida--?"

"Florida," agreed Shadow, appraising Corso's condition as the other man struggled to tug on his pants. There were a lot of things you could say about Dean Corso, but you couldn't call him a quitter. That's it, Shadow thought. He remembered how, on the plane, his first impression of the guy had been to admire his guts. "How are you feeling?"

Dean thought about it. "On a scale from one to ten, with ten being, my head explodes, the headache is a 6.5. I hurt all over where she touched me." The red welts looked even worse when Shadow half-opened the curtains, and made obvious the extent to which she'd tormented his friend. The welts of The Blonde's handprints were bad enough; the ones that looked like she'd drawn little hearts and daisies on him were sickening. "You know, all things considered, I don't feel as rotten as I would've thought. I can hardly move...but I think that ritual helped some--my aura looks better."

"Your--for gods' sake, Dean--get a grip! I'm sick of this aura bullshit! It didn't help us last night with Little Miss Sunflower!"

"Skyflower."

"Whatever!" Shadow snarled. "That New Age broad who almost got us killed!"

"That was my fault, not hers. Most of her clients probably don't have demons trying to kill them. You must have a pretty good headache yourself, if that bump on your skull is any indication."

Shadow wanted to growl, but it was true. The Blonde had been thorough when she'd conked him; his carefully exploring fingers met a lump the size of his palm, with a three-inch long gash slightly above and behind his left ear. He was lucky she'd been so eager to get her hands on Corso, otherwise, she might have fractured his skull outright. No, she'd probably thought tying him up was enough to stop him, had had plans for him too....

"Look," said Shadow. "It's about three now. I was thinking we'd try driving after dark, see if that's any better for you." He pulled the curtains closed again.

"Good idea. I hurt enough as it is." Corso lay back down with his eyes closed. Shadow watched him, troubled. He'd done the math; Dean was only four or five years older than he was, but right now, he sure didn't look it. He looked like he was in his sixties, easy, with his almost completely silvered hair and lined face.

They got on the road just after sundown. The traffic was light, and by driving through the night, made good progress. Neither of them felt like talking. There were long stretches of silence as Corso catnapped in the backseat. By mid-morning of the following day, they were cruising down a two-lane highway just over the Florida state line, when Corso stirred.

"Stop the car," Dean said suddenly.

Shadow slowed and pulled onto the shoulder with a concerned look in the rearview mirror at his passenger. "What's wrong?"

"We need to give that guy a lift," Corso answered, pointing out the rear window at the large pedestrian who was ambling toward their vehicle.

"Why?" Shadow demanded. If he says one word about auras, I'm gonna gag him.

"It's a warm day," said Corso, smiling. "We've got an air-conditioned car. It's a nice thing to do."

"Uh-huh." The man trudging up to the car looked like a sumo wrestler with garish taste in clothes. He wore a (mostly) blue plaid shirt and screaming orange shorts. He was bald except for a curly forelock, but despite his size and the heat of the day, he was beaming as he opened the passenger door and climbed in.

Shadow felt the springs list as the fat man sat down. "My sincere thanks, gentlemen, for your conveyance." There was a lilt to his voice--English was not his native tongue--and he spoke with a formal linguistic precision.

"Any time," replied Dean, who looked as happy as Shadow had ever seen him. "It's warm out there."

There was more of that aura shit going on...nice thing to do, his ass! "Where can we drop you?" Shadow asked.

"It is a short distance along this road, on the right hand side. There is a red mailbox on a white post." He smiled at Shadow, who pulled back onto the road.

"I'm Dean Corso, and that's Shadow, driving."

"You may call me Sid." He extended a hand over the back seat and Corso shook it carefully.

Shadow caught Dean looking at him. Probably trying to figure out how to avoid using the "A" word. "Nice to meet you, Sid," he said, with a sideways glance at their passenger.

"A pleasure to meet you as well, Shadow. A curious appellation, to be sure."

Shadow shrugged. "My friend isn't going to say anything because I've chewed his ear about it, but he's eyeing your aura."

"The mailbox is just around this next curve. If you would be so kind as to venture down the driveway, I would be most grateful. Now, I must ask, why would you discourage your friend from using such a gift?"

"Because," said Shadow, turning in at a mailbox labelled "Dakini" and guiding the car down a narrow, rutted trail, "his so-called gift bit us on the ass last night and almost got us both killed."

"I see. Does it have something to do with the taint that you are dealing with?"

"Everything to do with it," Dean answered as the vehicle bottomed out on the sloping track, apparently not surprised that Sid had discerned his problem.

Shadow hoped that Corso's aura sense--or whatever you called it--was working better this morning--he could almost hear the backwoods banjo music. He slowed down even more, creeping down the shady lane as his companion explained that they'd tried several avenues for a cure and were now headed to Florida.

"Ah, yes, very good!" exclaimed Sid. "Ruben will have you to rights in no time!"

"Who?" "Who's Ruben?" Shadow and Corso spoke at the same time.

"You were going elsewhere?"

"A guy I know, Mr. Nancy," said Shadow.

"I am not familiar with such an individual," said Sid politely, "but were I to have such a problem, I would seek out Ruben. He is the caretaker of the spring."

"Spring?" Dean Corso smiled. "Don't tell me--there really _is _a Fountain of Youth in Florida."

"Would such a thing surprise you?"

"Not anymore," replied Corso, chuckling. "I'll believe seven impossible things before breakfast--or in this case, lunch."

"A place of power," Shadow thought out loud, remembering his travels with Wednesday. "Some little attraction by the side of the road that doesn't look like much," he explained at Dean's questioning look, "but there are forces at work there."

"Okay, I'm game," Corso gave a little wave. "I'll try it. Where do we go?"

"Christmas."

Shadow stomped on the brakes, the car halting with a bounce. "Mister," he said to the man beside him, an edge in his voice. "No bullshit. My friend doesn't _have _until Christmas."

"Shadow!" Dean wore an embarrassed expression. "I'm sorry, Sid--"

"You are a fortunate man, to have a friend who is so concerned for you," was Sid's placid reply. "The name of the town is Christmas. It is a small town in the middle of the state with a post office that is very busy during the month of December."

Corso struggled with the spiral-bound travel atlas in his shaking hands. "Here it is, near Orlando. There are a couple major highways; I don't think it'll be hard to get to. And if that doesn't work, there's still your friend Mr. Nancy. Fort Pierce is farther south; it isn't that much of a detour."

"It's your call," Shadow said to Dean. "I'm just driving." Neither Ibis and Jacquel or Cerridwyn had mentioned this spring. If it really was the kind of place of power that Sid claimed, it could hold the answer. If. A big if.

It was rough, seeing Dean get excited about another possible cure. From Cerridwyn to Cairo to Sage, he'd kept going, getting weaker and weaker, still determined to find a way to cleanse himself of the taint that was killing him. It wasn't like he had a choice, Shadow reminded himself. It was either find a cure, or die trying--because the only alternative was pure Hell.

Corso nodded, his eyes meeting Shadow's in the mirror. "I'm willing to try."

"Okay, then," Shadow muttered, taking his foot off the brake and allowing the car to continue down the hill at an idle.

At the end of the track was a weathered farmhouse with a pond or marsh visible beyond it and a dark-haired young woman vigorously splitting wood near the driveway.

"Gentlemen, it would be delightful if you would join me for luncheon," Sid invited them as he extricated slowly his bulk from their car. "It would be a pleasure to talk more with you about your perceptions, Dean, and perhaps you, Shadow, could rest before our meal. My friends are most obliging in their hospitality."

Since Dean was already opening his door, Shadow figured the deciding vote had been cast.

"Thanks, Sid. Don't mind if we do." As long as we're not on the menu, thought Shadow wryly as he got out of the car.


	18. Orange Crush

The woman who'd been splitting wood left the axe on the chopping block and ran over to the car to fling her arms around Sid. The screen door squealed as another dusky beauty came out of the cabin, hurrying to greet the fat man enthusiastically.

"Nadia, Sophia--it is good to see you, my lovely ones!" He returned their affectionate greetings. "I have brought guests!" Dean caught Shadow's eye and raised an eyebrow. No wonder the guy was so happy, with two good-looking ladies hanging all over him. Two more exotic young women inside the house greeted Sid as warmly as the first two. He introduced Shadow and Corso, and got permission for Shadow to nap in the loft before dinner.

A few hours sleep, Shadow thought, weary after nearly twelve hours behind the wheel. Just a few hours.... The loft was a big, open space under a steeply pitched roof, with two king-sized beds pushed together in the middle of the room and a plethora of feminine paraphernalia ringing the walls. It looked like each of the four ladies had one wall that was hers...gotta wonder what the story was here...fat guy visits four gorgeous girls who all sleep in the same bed....

When he trotted back down the stairs several hours later, the savory aroma of chicken roasting made Shadow's mouth water. He looked around the room that he'd been too tired to take in the first time. The lower story of the cabin was open, with stairs leading up to the loft. A row of windows lining the back wall looked out over the small lake behind the cabin.

In the darkest corner, with the curtains at the front windows pulled shut, Dean was leaning forward in his armchair, talking earnestly to Sid, who sat cross-legged on an ottoman, nodding and occasionally responding.

That was probably a much deeper conversation than Shadow was ready for, even after five whole hours of sleep.

There was a big, orange tabby grooming himself in the sunlight that poured in through the back windows. _A bigger fish...a much bigger fish_, the cat was saying to himself. _And I will eat it all, yes, I will!_ The cat stopped and glared as Shadow strolled over. _Bad enough that the fat one is back to distract them from me. Now he brings his friends!_ Shadow grinned to himself. Knowing Khat was an interesting experience. This guy was jealous of Sid, what a hoot!

"That's Orange Crush. Careful, he'll scratch. He hates strangers," said the woman at the table, setting out flatware. "I'm Evelyn. That's Willette in the kitchen."

"Nice to meet you, Evelyn." He looked down at the cat, who was glaring at him.

_I am Crusher!_ the cat said defiantly, arching his back and crouching as if to pounce. _I am a mighty hunter!_

Shadow squatted down, knees creaking after hours on the road. He kept his voice low, and looked directly into the cat's yellow eyes. "Caught any good fish lately, Crusher?"

_You speak Khat?_ Crusher--as he called himself--sounded astonished. Plainly, if Sid had brought a giraffe into the house, he would have been no less amazed.

"Bast taught me."

Orange Crush leaped into the air. _Bast? You know the Bast? _Crusher hurtled himself at Shadow and rolled at his feet ecstatically. _The Bast! This one knows the Bast!_ If Shadow had ever wondered how the average cat felt about that deity, the orange tom answered his questions as he offered himself to Shadow, purring the name of Bast again and again.

"Will you look at this?" Evelyn appealed to her sisters. "Orange Crush likes him! I've never seen him take to anybody like this!"

"Shadow has a way with cats," remarked Corso. Shadow saw a knowing gleam in the other man's eye. Despite the dry tone of his comment, Dean obviously knew something, or thought he did. Well, maybe he and Bast _had _gotten a little loud once or twice.

While Evelyn and Willette carried platters of food from the kitchen to the table, Shadow described Bast to Crusher as he scratched the cat's ears dexterously. The wood chopper (Nadia or Sophia, he didn't have those two sorted out yet) reached down and scooped up the tom, carrying him to the door and unceremoniously tossing him out. "Usually I have to chase him around the house to get him out of here when dinner's on the table," she remarked with a smile.

Dinner was delicious. Even Corso had an appetite. The four sisters (two sets of twins, one identical, one fraternal, they explained) were lively, and they flirted outrageously with Sid, who seemed accustomed to it. They were playful with Corso as well; although it became apparent that they thought Corso was a much older man. They were friendly with Shadow, but not flirtatious.

When Sid disclosed to the ladies that his guests weren't from Florida, the girls all mentioned places they'd like to visit if they were playing tourist. Nadia, who was the tomboy of the bunch, wanted to visit Daytona Speedway. Sophia thought Key West would be great fun, while Evelyn yearned to see a rocket launch and Willette had in mind an airboat ride in the Everglades. Dean promised to send them a postcard, although none of the adventures they'd detailed was on his list of things to do.

They lingered longer than Shadow had planned; their new friends were good company. There was no telling how long the gathering might have gone on, but as Sophia brought up Hemingway, there was a frantic shredding of the screen door, and Orange Crush bolted into the house. He tore across the room, leaped onto the table and skidded to a stop in front of Shadow.

_You must go! Go now! A very bad person is coming! Coming through the woods, coming from the lake! Run! _His tail was fluffed up like a bottle brush and he yowled for emphasis.

"Trouble," said Shadow, standing. "Dean, here, take the car keys, if I'm not there in five minutes, get your ass to Florida and I'll catch up with you somehow. Sid, I'm sorry, we've got somebody following us. We didn't mean to cause trouble for you."

"Wait a minute," said Willette in disbelief. "The _cat _told you this?"

"You _do _have a way with cats," said Evelyn, biting back a grin.

"Ladies, do you have a car or truck or some way you and Sid can get out of here for a while?" Shadow interrupted their crosstalk. "The last thing we want is for anything to happen to you because of us."

"I think we had better depart for a short time," Sid said solemnly. "I have been speaking with Dean about the challenges he faces, and I do not think it would be wise to entangle ourselves in these matters."

"Shadow--" Dean began.

"Get out to the car, Dean. Now. Getting you out of here may help draw her off."

"Let's go into town and get some ice cream," suggested Evelyn to their contingent. To Shadow's relief, she shepherded the other women and Sid out of the house, Dean following them unsteadily.

_The Bast says I must help you. _Crusher told Shadow. _Tell me what to do._

He listened, hearing the sound of doors slamming, and an engine revving. A car sputtered, but he relaxed as he heard it rattle up the drive. "Okay, Crush, I need to do some bitch-slapping. If you get a chance, trip her up for me. Can you do that?"

_I will. _The orange tom was fervent. _The Bast wants me to help you. I'll do anything you ask of me._

"Good." Shadow headed out the back door, quietly, scanning the woods for movement. "Where was she?"

Crusher indicated the area to the right of the cabin. Shadow went that way; the back of a shed with a woodpile came into view, probably where the residents' vehicle was kept, if the sullen oil stain on the ground was any clue. No one was hiding in there. He rounded the corner of the shed. There was the chopping block, axe lodged in it, and beyond it the driveway and--

"Son of a bitch!" Shadow muttered to himself at the sight of their car idling with Corso behind the wheel. "I _told _him..." Here he was, trying to save Dean's life, and the guy didn't have enough sense to get out of harm's way.

As he strode toward the car, fuming, Dean leaned on the horn. Great, let the whole world know we're here, why don't you? groaned Shadow. If he just hopped into the car with Corso and took off, there was nothing to prevent The Blonde from laying in wait for their hosts. It wasn't until Crusher shrieked a warning that Shadow turned around.

She had the axe.

Shadow dodged her swing as The Blonde brought the axe down. He tried to knock her off-balance, but she skipped past him, whirling to lash out again, the steel of the blade flashing in the afternoon sunlight. Attempting to side-step her, his foot skidded on loose wood chips and he went down, hard.

Pain from his still-sore shoulder took his breath away for a moment. It was all he could do to gather himself and roll away from her as she took aim again. He was on one knee, gulping for air, trying to make it to his feet, when an orange blur launched itself at The Blonde. Claws out, Crusher flew into her face. _For the Bast!_ he yowled. Bright red gouges rent her beautiful face as the cat dropped to the ground. She screamed and clutched the left side of her face, where his strike had cut deepest.

As much by luck as half-blind aim, her next stroke met Crusher in midair as he attacked again. _I will kill you, I will! _the orange tom snarled at her impotently, half-gutted. The cat's attack had bought Shadow the interval he needed to rise. Now he stood, circling Crusher's mortally wounded form, one eye on the axe, the other on the ground underfoot.

This time, when he heard the horn, it was coming closer. When he glanced that way, the car was barreling toward them. Shadow got the hell out of the way as Corso aimed for The Blonde, who fled. He stomped on the brakes and skidded to a halt inches from the woodpile as Shadow limped over to where Crusher lay.

_...for the Bast. Tell the Bast...the Bast--_

Shadow put his hand lightly on the orange cat's head. "I'll tell her I knew a mighty hunter who fought well." Crusher's tail twitched approval and a last tremor ran through him. Corso reversed the car to where Shadow crouched over the cat's body, and slid over to the passenger side. "I told you to get out of here," Shadow said to him, getting in. "What the hell is wrong with you, Dean?"

"You said five minutes. It's just that now."

Was it? He hurt too much to argue. Putting the vehicle in gear, Shadow steered for the trail leading out of there, leaving behind a fallen orange warrior.

* * *

And that's why I didn't bring Jinx along. I'm too fond of her....not to mention the times when three would've been a crowd.

The end is in sight, folks. Just three more chapters! (I'll be posting the final two together, probably this time next week.)


	19. Walking Wounded

"Shadow, you don't look too good," Dean said worriedly as they sped down the blacktop.

"My shoulder is killing me," was Shadow's terse reply.

"What, from falling on it?"

"From the other night."

At Corso's puzzled look, Shadow realized the other man had been unconscious through most of that fateful evening's action. "That bitch tied me up in the graveyard so she could play with you. I dislocated it while I was getting loose."

"And you just _landed _on it? Ow."

"_Ow _is right."

"I'm so sorry, Shadow. I never thought you helping me was going to turn into...all this," he waved a hand to indicate the car. "You were just going to give me a lift to see Jess's friend and that was it. I never expected anyone to get hurt."

"Forget it, Dean. If I wasn't supposed to be involved, I never would've ended up in the seat next to you."

"You think so?" There was a pleading note in the other man's voice.

Shadow nodded, glancing over at his friend. "What, you think that's never crossed my mind? That this business has turned into a whole lot more of a road trip than either of us planned? Yeah, I've thought about it. I don't think it's a cosmic coincidence that we got hooked up, and I know enough to know how much I don't know."

Corso peered at him. "That almost made sense."

"Look, all this stuff you're going through....it's some weird shit, right? Well, what do you think the odds are that you just happened to get a seat on a plane with somebody who has coped with some pretty weird shit of his own?"

"Not just that...." The sick man was struggling to express his thoughts. "You're a good guy....you're honest and you won't let me get away with being an asshole but even when I'm being an asshole and getting you hurt and totally messing up your life, you still stick with me." He shook his head in wonderment.

This was more amazing than meeting Houdini's ghost. "Ah, come on," scoffed Shadow, uncomfortable. "You haven't totally messed up my life. I did three years in prison before I ever met you, remember?"

"I don't know why you think I'm worth it."

"Hey, I'm an overgrown Boy Scout, remember? I'm trying to get my Life Saving merit badge."

They were coming into the next town. Shadow spotted Sid and the Dakini sisters standing at the curb outside a drugstore advertising its own soda fountain. He pulled in beside their elderly truck. Sid greeted them with hugs. Shadow had to bite his lip as the fat man jovially slapped him on the back. "You are unharmed. Dean, Shadow, this is a great relief."

"We are, but I have some bad news," Shadow began, and haltingly told them the fate of Orange Crush.

"Who is this bitch, and how can I get my hands on her?" demanded Nadia. "I'll teach her to go around killing people's cats!"

"Can't you get some kind of restraining order?" Evelyn asked Corso.

"She sounds like a crazy woman to me," Sophia said to her. "You don't think a little piece of paper is going to stop someone like that, do you?"

"How do we know she isn't going to be waiting to murder us in our beds and torture us to find out where you're going?" Willette worried.

"Ladies, that's not going to happen," Corso soothed. Shadow wondered how he could be so certain.

"How do you know?" asked Willette.

"Because...." Dean bit his lip as he looked at the anxious ladies. "This is a long, complicated story--"

At that, Shadow quietly entered the drugstore. He needed a cold drink and a bottle of aspirin in the worst way. A big bottle of aspirin. He looked around the vintage interior as he scouted out the aisle with painkillers and first aid supplies. When had he last seen an old-fashioned soda fountain like this, all chrome and dark green linoleum? It looked like it should be right down the block from Jacquel and Ibis.

Out of habit, he asked for a pack of Luckies for Corso...on second thought, he upgraded it to a full carton. The fewer stops they had to make between here and Christmas, the better. God, wasn't that a helluva thing for Dean to say? "I don't know why you think I'm worth it." Shadow had finally gotten to the point where he had to concede that he and Corso were friends--and wasn't that the kind of shit friends did for each other?

"Friends? How the hell did that happen, anyway?" he thought, but their strange adventures had definitely brought him closer to Corso than he had been to anyone since...at that point, his brain hit the wall. Who? Laura? No, they'd shared love and lust and what had seemed like a happy marriage at the time, but that had been rooted in rut. Anyone? He stared blankly at the magazines in the rack by the door. Then a newspaper caught his eye, and he added it hastily to his purchases as the clerk rummaged for the cigarettes.

Dean leaned against their car, waving good-bye to the girls' departing truck as Shadow came out of the drugstore with his purchases. "What've you got there?" he asked, accepting the cigarettes and looking at the white paper bag in Shadow's hand. "Aspirin? Jesus, Shadow, I've still got enough pain pills in my suitcase to give Hunter S. Thompson a wet dream."

"I don't need to be zonked behind the wheel." Shadow shook his head.

"You're twice my size," Dean said. "Take half of one, that ought to make things bearable without knocking you out."

"Let me see how the aspirin works," Shadow temporized. "Maybe I'll take one tonight. Have a look at this." He held out the newspaper.

"E.T.'S AT WORK IN ARKANSAS" trumpeted the headline over the picture of a design burned into a field of young crops. Dean whistled as the newsprint showed them a bird's eye view of the ritual's effects. There was a charred circle ringing a patch of unscorched stalks, then a spiral, which Shadow had surmised, but he hadn't realized that the outer band bore flame-like ripples fanning out around its perimeter. Looking closely at the details, it was obvious that the 'exit' to the spiral was obligingly close to the cemetery wall. Sitting ducks, and we walked right into it, Shadow thought, shaking his head.

Once they were underway again, he filled Corso in on what had happened after he'd lost consciousness outside the circle: the long trek though the smoking field and The Blonde's ambush in the bone orchard.

"That ritual was probably like blood in the water to a shark," the tainted man said regretfully. "That's why I'm not too worried that she's going to go after Sid and the twins. She can find me without resorting to that. So much for 'We're here, we might as well'! One minutewe were outin the field, then I woke up stark naked with her groping me."

"I could hear you screaming," Shadow said. "Trouble is, I was tied up like a turkey and couldn't do much about it. And then the damnedest thing happened...." He recounted his meeting with Houdini's ghost.

Corso listened with his mouth hanging open.

"You know, a couple years ago, if anyone had told me a story like that, I would've thought they were nuts." Corso lit a cigarette and took a single puff. "Now--?" He shook his head, stubbed out the Lucky. "I believe you. I absolutely 100 believe you. Houdini's ghost? Crop circles? Talking cats, Egyptian gods?" He laughed a little hysterically. "I'm surprised we _haven't _run into any aliens--or pod people or Elvis or the Loch Ness monster! Ah, but what the hell, it's not over yet!"

Shadow felt a stab of unease. Dean sounded like he was about to lose it. Sure, the whole situation was somewhere to the left of crazy....but then, Shadow had been wandering in the weirdness for so long now that he'd forgotten how weird it really was.

"It gets better," he said, hoping that keeping it light would help. The business with Houdini...that was just cool. No other word for it.

"Uh-huh."

Shadow had tucked "On Magic" into the storage slot on his door. He retrieved it and handed it to Corso. "Remember the autograph on the title page? Take a look."

Dean whistled as he peered at the writing in the slim volume. Holding the book at an angle, the book dealer looked over his glasses at the inscription and turned the page to look at both sides. "There is _no way_ you could match that ink," he said thoughtfully. "Or the pen strokes. It looks like it was there all along--but it wasn't, was it?"

"Nope."

"Damn."

They were both quiet for several miles. Then Corso chuckled. He looked less stressed this time. "It's good to know that there's a book out there that's on my side!"

"Good thing I didn't sell it to you for fifty bucks."

That struck them both as funny for some reason. Shadow reached out and rested his hand on Corso's frail arm. "Hang on, Dean. We'll get you through this."

"I believe you'll try," said the other man, closing his eyes and leaning back against the headrest. The setting sun glinted off the silver of his hair. He looked old and tired, and Shadow's right foot moved closer to the floor of its own accord.

* * *

Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion in the next installment of "Wisdom's Gate"!


	20. The Meaning of Christmas

Christmas, Florida turned out to be a wide place in the road, due east of Orlando. There couldn't be many roadside attractions in a berg like this, Shadow thought, and when he saw a sign for 'Historic Fort Christmas', he hung a left and sped down the two-lane road. It was early, just after eight a.m., and he suspected they'd have to wait for the place to open.

His suspicions were confirmed when he halted the car in front of a pair of black iron gates and looked at the sign displaying the hours of operation. Damn, they were way too early. Dean was curled up in the back under his coat again. Shadow doubted he was sleeping. He was showing some of the tremors he'd been having on the plane; if he'd known where to find some sage, Shadow would have smoked the car like a salmon.

When a gleaming pick-up truck pulled in beside their vehicle, the driver got out with a key to the gate, and Shadow's hopes soared. "Excuse me, are you Ruben?"

The man looked over at him. "You're looking for Ruben?"

Shadow nodded, his heart beating faster.

"He doesn't work here, he's at the museum. Go back down this road til you get to 50. It's there on the left, where the perpetual Christmas tree is."

Shadow turned the car around and retraced the way back to the main highway. Sure enough, there was a huge Christmas tree, decorated, right there on the corner. Museum? It sure as hell didn't look like a museum. There was a brightly painted Santa Claus nearby, complete with sled and reindeer, but nothing that looked remotely like a museum.

"You think this is it?" he asked Dean dubiously.

The sick man lifted his head, a slow, pained movement. Then he smiled broadly. "This is definitely it."

Shadow could see someone in coveralls walking toward the car as he turned off the engine. Dean was dragging himself out of the back seat. "Hello, Ruben!" Shadow heard him greet the other man as he opened the driver's door.

"Good morning," said the caretaker, as if perfectly accustomed to being greeted by name by strangers early in the day. He looked Latino, Shadow thought, fiftyish, thinning dark hair threaded with white and a stocky build--he felt an odd sense of familiarity, but couldn't imagine from where. "You're here for the spring, I take it?"

"Yes, please," Dean said. He had that look on his face, Shadow saw. Auras again!

"It's through the trees there, behind the first and second crosses." Moving over to where Ruben stood, they could see a small meadow with three crosses on the far side. Ruben looked at Shadow. "The path is probably overgrown; come with me, I have a machete in the tool shed that you can use."

There were several little paths through the area. Shadow glanced around curiously. A stone's throw back from the road, amidst a lush, tropical garden, a small, one-story building labelled itself the Christmas museum. Ruben led him around back to a lean-to, where he began rummaging through its contents.

"So, that's where that went," the caretaker murmured, setting aside a spattered canvas drop cloth. He was unhurried; Shadow was torn between wanting to hang out with the guy---to figure out where he knew him from--prison, maybe?!---and wanting to fling things out of the tool shed until the machete emerged and drag Dean down to the spring and see if it would help. Then Ruben groaned; the sought-after machete had been hanging above the tool shed's door all along. "_That's _where I put it....I don't use it very often anymore. Here, go take care of your brother."

Shadow accepted the machete Ruben handed him, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and went back to the car, only to find Dean gone. Had he been gone long enough for his friend to make it across the meadow, or was there a more sinister explaination?

As he was worrying, a high velocity roar came closer as a motorbike veered off of 50 and rocketed to a stop in the parking area. Somehow, Shadow wasn't surprised to see The Blonde step off the bike and drop her helmet beside it as she produced the axe. Her face still bore the marks of Crusher's attack; her left eye was swollen almost closed.

"Are we gonna start this again?" he asked her. "Because, sweetheart, I am more than ready to finish it." This was it; this was the confrontation that the others had been a prelude to. Ruben's cryptic words seemed to indicate that this spring could heal his friend, and Shadow was willing to sacrifice himself to make it so.

She glanced from him to Ruben, looked across the meadow at the looming crosses and winced. "You can't have him," she said, shaking her head.

Ruben smiled at her. "If his taint is washed away, you can't _take _him."

"And _you_." Her green eyes flashed and there was venom in her tone as she glared at Shadow. "Where do you fit into all this?"

"Good question," he grinned, which only served to infuriate her more. She leaped forward with the axe; he raised the machete to block her stroke. Considering what he'd already seen her do with that particular axe, he moved carefully. It was early enough that there was still dew on the grass, and if he fell on his ass again, odds were that he'd be dead this time. Her axe was sharper, but the machete had a longer reach, especially at the end of Shadow's arm.

The Blonde kept looking anxiously toward the distant treeline. Clearly, she wanted to stop Dean, but she couldn't get to him, not without going through Shadow first. He got a piece of her, the long blade biting into the outer edge of her forearm. She switched the axe handle to her right hand and her chopping became wilder. She made growling screams as she attacked him, wails of pain and rage emerging together from her throat.

As blood from her damaged arm dripped to earth, little sprigs of grass went from green to black. Shadow dodged her vigorous thrashing, swinging the machete as her arm was fully extended and her stance was open. He was rewarded as the steel blade slashed across her abdomen. "That's for Crusher," he said with satisfaction.

Shadow was able to avoid her, but twice the slick, uneven ground almost had him down. Once he went down to one knee, but she was badly wounded enough that he managed to rise before she could press her advantage.

His adversary was bent half double, her wounded arm over her wounded belly, her ruined face contorted with rage. Injured though she was, Shadow knew better than to underestimate her. He had to buy time for Dean to reach the spring, if he could...not knowing how far off it was, or if the sick man had collapsed somewhere just out of sight From the darting glances she shot toward the far side of the field, time was obviously a factor.

"Come on, bitch," he said, deliberately goading her to distract her from thoughts of pursuit. "You've been messing with my friend, what, I'm not good enough for you? My feelings are hurt." He made an obnoxious kissing noise.

With a feral cry, she leaped at him, and he had to dance away from the axe's flight. "Is that the best you've got?" He remembered what Dean had blurted that hellish night in the motel. "Or maybe you don't want to get too close? Is that it? You're afraid of me?"

The Blonde was furious, but he could see her weakening from loss of blood. Her sagging head came up with a start--for a moment, Shadow thought she'd found some supernatural reserve of strength that was going to get him killed then and there--but her gaze was fixed on the woods beyond the three crosses, and she wailed, "Nooo!", raw grief on her face. "Damn you!"

Then, in a rage, she threw the axe at Shadow as hard as she could. She'd misjudged her trajectory; if the blade had struck his chest, it would've buried itself into his heart, but instead, the haft hit him and bounced harmlessly to the ground. Seizing advantage of her defenseless position, Shadow swung the machete in a two-handed grip with all his strength. A _crunch _travelled all the way up his arms as the blade met her cervical vertebrae, then the resistance was gone, and the steel concluded its arc. Blood fountained from her severed neck as she collapsed in two pieces on the ground.

Shadow stood there, panting, staring at the body whose blood was tainting the earth it lay upon. He looked up at Ruben, who didn't seem to be shocked, horrified, or any other predictablereaction. The caretaker shrugged, looked at the blackened earth, and said, "I could always put in a rock garden...."

The chuckle Shadow wanted to give the remark was overshadowed by a tremor that ran through him. The blade wobbled in his hand. He'd just killed a woman. Even if she was some kind of demon from hell, she looked like a woman, and he'd just cut her head off, he thought, and remembered a phrase from an old children's story. Cut it _clean _off..._not _clean though...that spurt of blood....

There wasn't much in his stomach to bring up, but what little there was spewed onto the blackened grass. Shadow raised his head after the nausea had passed, only to see something else coming toward them from across the field. It was man-shaped, but green and swift-moving, and he straightened up, preparing himself to fight again.

"How do you feel?" called Ruben, throwing the drop cloth over the mess on the ground.

To Shadow's stupefaction, Dean's voice answered from the green man. "Great!"

Shadow lowered the machete as his friend joined them. Up close, he was covered in algae from head to toe, but he moved lithely, with none of the hesitancy that Shadow was accustomed to.

"I see you found the spring," Ruben said to him.

Dean laughed. "Fell right in." He looked from Shadow, to the tarp covering The Blonde on the smoking black grass, to the machete Shadow was still clutching in his hand. Looked at Ruben. "Shadow, I think you can give him his sword back now."

"That's a machete," said Shadow, relinquishing the hilt to the caretaker.

"Okay, if you say so," Dean grinned. He looked...happy wasn't the right word...joyful, that was it. Under the coating of pond scum, his hair was dark and his face no longer wizened with age.

"I have a hose around back, if you'd like to rinse off," Ruben said to him.

"That would be wonderful. Thanks."

"I'll get you some clean clothes out of the car," muttered Shadow, and went in that direction, confused by his conflicting feelings. Dean was healed, The Blonde was dead, why did he feel so out of it?

Finding his way through the maze of paths in the little park wasn't as simple without a guide. Shadow took a trail that he thought would lead him to the tool shed, only to find himself standing in front of a flat-roofed stone structure, open to the elements. Inside was a brightly painted nativity scene. Well, sure, it _is _called Christmas, after all...he thought, staring at it.

"There you are!" said Ruben. "Are you okay? You're looking a little shaky."

The statues...his coveralls...caretaker...**Adoration**. "You're an angel!" Shadow blurted, remembering the painting from Louisville.

Ruben smiled. "Come on, I think Dean's ready for his clothes by now." Shadow followed in a daze. Give the man his sword back...of course, he'd need a sword to defend a place like this...and a paintbrush to keep it tidy....

Back by the tool shed, Dean was drying himself with a clean rag. He wasn't skin over bones any longer...lean, yes, but healthy and comfortable in his own body. There were streaks of silver hair at his temples, and the beginnings of lines on his face, but no more than might reasonably be expected on the face of a 41-year old man.

Compared to a couple of days ago, when the guy'd had to sit and catch his breath after pulling his pants on, it seemed extraordinary to watch Dean casually dress himself. Dean and Ruben were carrying on a bizarrely normal conversation about nearby motels. Something on the beach....

"Give me the keys," Dean said to Shadow after a while.

"What?"

"Shadow, you look like you're about to fall over. Give me the keys to the car. It's my turn to drive."

* * *

Yes, dear Reader, there is a Christmas museum on Highway 50, exactly as it's described (with the exceptions of Ruben and the spring). On my first visit there--long before this story was a gleam in my eye--it made me think ofGaiman's description of places of power. I'm certain this little park is one of them, and I knew while planning **Wisdom's Gate** that Christmas was where Dean Corso was going to be cured. 

Extra special thanks to Mojave Dragonfly, whose request for angels sparked Chapter Eight, and Ruben.


	21. Tides' Turn

Shadow was dreaming about woodpeckers. At least, he thought it was a dream, but when his eyes opened in the dimly lit room, the tap, tap, tapping was still audible. He raised his head. A motel room, from the looks of it, he thought, vaguely recalling Dean checking them into a seaside getaway.

At the room's desk, Dean sat pecking away at a laptop. What the hell? "Hey," Shadow said, and his friend turned around, smiling. "Where'd that come from?"

"I went shopping while you were napping."

Shadow glanced at his watch. "Four hours? Feels like more."

Dean laughed. "Try sixteen hours, Sleeping Beauty. It's two in the morning. Feeling any better?"

There was a bruise beginning where the axe had struck his chest. His shoulder was stiff, and his eyes still wanted to droop closed. There was also the matter of incipient kidney failure. "Not really," he said, getting out of bed and padding into the bathroom.

When he emerged, Dean handed him a cold can of soda and two pills. "What's this?"

"A muscle relaxer and something for pain."

The hell with it. Shadow downed the meds with a swallow of soda, and fell back into bed. Pretty soon, the woodpeckers were back. He was going to bake them into a pie, and share it with the beautiful Dakini sisters, but only if Bast said it was okay...

It was ten a.m. when Shadow woke again, feeling rested this time. No wonder he'd been out of it, it had been several eventful days and more than a thousand miles since he'd had more than snatched hours of sleep. He realized he was starving. Where was Dean, anyway? The sound of running water and a baritone voice murdering "The House of the Rising Sun" gave him a clue.

Shadow yawned and stretched. Yeah, a shower sounded like a pretty good idea to him, too. Getting up, he noticed the desk and the top of the bureau, where an assortment of objects and papers werestrewn about. A rock bristling with quartz spires weighed down a wrinkled paper with the name Kerri D. Owen, and an address. A postcard of Tides' Turn Inn with, "Greetings from Sunny Florida" was addressed to "The Dakini Sisters Sid". Shadow grinned. Well, why not? Dean _had _promised them a postcard. A typewritten list of book titles had handwritten amendments next to the prices, and an attached letter to Ms. Jennifer DeMagestris informed her that in his professional opinion, the books he had requested she hold for him were of considerably greater value than she had placed on them-

Looking at it all, Shadow had the feeling that something was missing. Something he was accustomed to seeing, but didn't. On the desk, the laptop was hooked to a printer, there was an assortment of office supplies, but not?

No cigarettes. No ashtray full of butts, no lighter or book of matches. No odor of tobacco at all in the room that he could tell. Thinking back, the last day or so, out of the carton he'd picked up for the trip, Dean hadn't had more than two or three cigarettes, and that was just a quick puff or two, then snubbed out. That's the second miracle this week...

At the sound of the bathroom door opening, Shadow turned as Dean exited in a billow of steam, wrapped in a towel, and smiling. "Good morning, Shadow! I hope my singing didn't wake you."

"Dean, you sing the same way you play the organ."

"With feeling?" the other man said mock-innocently, and they both laughed.

"I can't get over it," Shadow said. "You look great, like you've never been sick a day in your life."

"I've got a second chance," said Dean, more solemn now. "Things are going to be different."

"I can see that." He looked meaningfully at the items on the desktop. "Looks like you're taking care of business."

"I haven't made any phone calls yet. I didn't want to disturb you yesterday, you were dead tired."

"Hope you left some hot water," Shadow said, heading for the shower. When he returned, Dean was sitting on one of the beds, talking on the phone, and wearing one of the loudest tropical print shirts Shadow had ever seen.

"...I know, Mom. I will. Have a good time at bingo with Aunt Betty. Bye."

"Wow, you don't half do things, do you?" asked Shadow as Dean hung up the phone. "I didn't think you'd talked to your family in twenty years."

"Longer. You know what, it's still the same phone number-the only thing that's changed is the area code."

"How are they? Glad to hear from you?"

Dean half-smiled. "Mom was...Dad died more than ten years ago." He shrugged. "Nothing I can do about that."

"Your brothers?"

"Kevin-he's the oldest-he had a massive heart attack and now he's on a disability pension. Stevie-he's a couple years younger than Kevin-Mom says he's been living in New York for years, in the Village." Shadow wasn't sure why that was significant. "He's gay," Dean explained, smiling again as he shook his head. "Who knew? I'll have to give him a call when I get back to town."

"Have you called that lawyer yet?"

"I was just going to do that now. Hey, there's half a bacon, mushroom and onion pizza in the fridge, help yourself."

Cold pizza wasn't Shadow's idea of the breakfast of champions, but he was hungry enough to dig in anyway, while Dean placed his call to Stewart Rodenbaugh's office. At first, it sounded like someone was stonewalling him, but the book dealer wasn't about to be stalled.

"Listen, Amber, I don't _care _if he's in a meeting. Tell him it's Dean Corso-" He held the phone away from his ear, and Shadow could hear the woman's voice from ten feet away.

"-absolutely! Right away, Mr. Corso!"

"I don't know if that's a good sign or not," Dean remarked, cradling the phone back against his shoulder. "Stewart! Hello!"

Shadow sat at the desk, munching the pizza and listening to Dean's side of the conversation with undisguised curiosity. "Europe. Since last April. That's right, just before I left-I...uh-huh. _Really?_ No, he didn't...no, I had no _idea_..."

Whatever it was, Shadow could hear Dean's voice cracking with emotion. "My god-Stewart, I didn't think-I know, but-okay. Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can. By the end of the week. No problem. Thanks. Yes, you too. Bye." There were tears on Dean's cheeks as he hung up the phone. "I don't believe it," he said, his voice breaking.

Abandoning the pizza, Shadow sat on the side of the bed beside his friend. "What's wrong?"

"Bernie...he left me the store. I got him killed, and he left me the store, Shadow."

"Second chances, Dean," he said to the book dealer.

Dean nodded slowly. "It'll remind me, every day." He blinked, recovered himself. "Come on, Shadow. Get dressed, I'll take you out for some real food."

The tropical print shirt waiting in Shadow's size was every bit as ghastly as his friend's. "You've got to be kidding," he muttered. Hibiscus flowers and grimacing tiki gods? he thought, wincing at the busy pattern. He didn't look any sillier than Dean did, though, sporting a print with parrots and palm trees.

"You look sharp," said Dean with a grin, standing beside him and admiring his own reflection. Or was he?

"How's your aura?"

"When I see it, I know how much I've learned from you. Thanks, Shadow."

That street runs both ways, thought Wednesday's son. "Don't mention it, brother."

The End.


End file.
